


Wicked Game

by OfEndlessWonder



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Compliant, F/F, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfEndlessWonder/pseuds/OfEndlessWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She thinks that maybe it had been inevitable, that they were inevitable, drawn together, colliding and separating, over and over again and Root wonders how long it will be before she breaks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but when I started writing it turned into a bit of a monster, so I decided to split it into four parts, instead, and it will hopefully be updated every Tuesday if all goes to plan!  
> The first three parts take place sometime within the first two episodes of season 4, and the fourth will be set after Shaw is taken by Samaritan.

_The world was on fire, and no-one could save me but you,  
Strange what desire will make foolish people do._

* * *

 

Shaw’s just gotten out of the shower when she hears a knock at her front door and she pauses where she stands in her kitchen, a bottle of beer half-raised towards her lips, muscles tensing and mind racing when she hears the sound, because who the hell could _that_ be?

There’s a small possibility that it’s her insane neighbour, who she sometimes hears wandering the halls yelling to herself, and has knocked on Shaw’s door on more than one occasion with increasingly bizarre requests – three days ago she’d asked if Shaw had seen her husband, but Shaw’s about ninety nine percent sure that she lives alone and there’s no wedding ring on her finger.

Sometimes she sits and she thinks about what her life’s been reduced to now and she just… she’d probably cry, if she were anyone else. Frankly she’s just amazed that she’s been working at a make-up counter for over two months and hasn’t resorted to shooting anyone.

Yet, anyway – she supposes there’s still time.

When she ignores the first knock it comes again, this time a frantic pounding, and Shaw sighs heavily, taking a long swig of her beer before leaving it on the counter and padding over to the door, pulling it open a crack, a retort about the late hour and disturbing her sleep already on her lips, but she quickly forgets what she was going to say when she sees who’s on the other side.

“Hey, sweetie.” Root’s face is pale, paler than Shaw’s ever seen it, and the smile she tries to aim Shaw’s way is more of a grimace, her voice tight with pain. “Got time to catch up?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Shaw hisses as she lets her door open wider, ushering Root inside quickly and wincing when she sees the creepy guy with the wandering eyes from down the hall eyeing her and Root curiously. “I thought we were supposed to be laying low, pretending to be - ” She notices the way Root’s standing, then, hunched over as she leans back against the wall behind her, her left hand pressed tightly against her right side, and when she shifts Shaw sees red and sucks in a harsh breath. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Not important,” Root says through gritted teeth, and Shaw sees the way she sways as she moves her hand, glancing down at her side and breathing out a quiet curse. “But I’m here because I appear to be in need of some medical assistance and can’t get myself to a hospital without being discovered.”

Shaw crosses over to Root’s side in three easy steps, tugging her blood-soaked shirt up across her ribs and frowning down at the wound underneath, bleeding freely, and thinks that it’s a miracle that Root managed to make it here at all.

“It’s a through and through,” Root says then, her breaths coming in quick, sharp pants. “I just need patching up and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Shaw’s pretty sure that that won’t be the case, that Root needs more medical assistance than she’ll be able to give her, but before she can give voice to the words Root sways on her feet again, and Shaw reaches her hands out quickly, catching the other woman as she falls, unsurprised that she’d fainted with the amount of blood she’s lost but wishing that Root could’ve just held on a _little_ longer.

It’s a struggle but she manages to drag Root over to, and lift her on-top of, her kitchen table, pressing Root’s back against the wood before hurrying to her bathroom for her medical supplies, hoping that she has enough to stem the bleeding and praying that the bullet hadn't damaged any of Root’s internal organs because there won’t be a thing Shaw can do for her here if it has.

She works quickly, checking that no bullet fragments are embedded in Root’s skin before cleaning the wound as best she can and stitching it up when she’s done, thankful that Root’s out cold because she doesn’t have anything that could numb the pain and she’s not entirely sure that Root has the pain threshold for this.

She worries at her bottom lip as she presses a dressing to the wound and tapes the edges to Root’s flesh, glancing at the other woman’s face, concerned about the whiteness of her skin and her lips, about the way her chest barely rises and falls with the force of her breaths.

Shaw knows that Root needs blood but can’t bear to leave her here alone in-case she takes a turn for the worse – the thought of something happening to her, when she’d risked blowing her cover to come here, trusting Shaw to help her, is… she doesn’t know if she’d be able to bear it.

She doesn’t know when Root had become someone that she… cared about (she begrudgingly recognises it as that, despite telling herself that she never _could_ care about anyone other than herself, because Root and Finch and Reese? They’re her family, now, her little band of pains in her ass (Root, especially), and she _cares_ ), but somehow, she had. She’d snuck past all of the walls Shaw had put up against her, disarming, with her innuendos and her flirting and that damn smirk she’s always directing Shaw’s way whenever they’re together.

It’s infuriating, _Root_ is infuriating, but Shaw would give anything to hear her say something inappropriate or to see her to bat her eyelashes – _anything_ to show that she’s still alive, because right now she looks like she’s barely breathing and Shaw’s throat feels tight with something that she thinks might be fear.

She doesn’t take her eyes from Root as she reaches to pull her phone from her pocket, hating that she’ll have to rely on someone else but knowing that she can’t leave Root, and Root needs blood if she’s going to make it through the night, and she calls one of the few numbers saved in her contacts, praying that he’ll pick up.

_“Hello?”_ Romeo’s voice echoes down the phone and Shaw breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. _“What can I do for you, pretty lady?”_

“I need a favour,” Shaw replies brusquely, reaching out a hand to feel for the pulse in Root’s wrist and cursing when she feels how weak it is, barely thrumming beneath her fingertips. “Kind of a weird one.”

_“Go on.”_ She likes the fact that he doesn’t question her, knows that he won’t even when she utters her next words, and marvels at the fact that person she trusts most in her life right now is a thief.

“I need you to steal something for me.” Romeo hums but doesn’t say anything else. “Blood.”

_“You got some kind of vampire fetish I don’t know about?”_

“No,” Shaw replies with a roll of her eyes, her voice urgent. “Don’t ask me why I need it or what it’s for, just… can you do it for me or not?”

_“Sure,”_ he answers after a few moments of tense silence, and Shaw lets out a quiet sigh of relief. _“You need O neg, I’m guessing?”_

“Please,” she murmurs back, eyes still watching the rise and fall of Root’s chest. “And hurry.” She hangs up, then, and tries not to watch the clock as she waits for his call. She decides to attempt to clean up the blood that’s dripped across her floor and onto her table while she waits, one eye on Root the whole time, and when she’s done she wipes a cloth across Root’s skin, revealing pale flesh beneath the sheen of red. She uses a pair of scissors to cut the ruined material of Root’s shirt away from her skin and tugs off her jacket, too, and tries not to think about how fragile and weak Root looks, lying on her kitchen table in just her bra and jeans.

Romeo knocks on her door within the hour, and Shaw opens the door only a crack as she takes the bag he hands her, giving him a nod of gratitude before shutting the door between them, knowing that she’ll see him sooner rather than later – she’s sure he and his little band of thieves can’t wait longer than a few days before coming up with a new target.

She’s methodical as she slides a needle into the skin of Root’s arm and hooks up one of the blood bags to it, watching as blood slides down the tube and into Root’s veins. It’s been so long since she’d gone into doctor mode (since she’d _had_ to), and it’s nice to let her mind be taken back, to remember how easy it used to be, when she’d saved lives instead of taking them.

It’s not like she regrets where she is now (well, _right_ now she does, a little, because Sameen Grey does _not_ lead an interesting life and it’s driving her slowly insane), because the work she’s doing for the Machine is fulfilling in a way that her work for ISA had never been, but… it’s brought with it a lot of complications.

One of which is unconscious on her kitchen table right now.

She sighs as the last of the blood from the bag she holds in her hands trickles into Root and slips the needle gently from her skin, putting the other two bags of blood in her fridge and hoping that she won’t need any more than that. She deliberates whether she’s better leaving Root where is or trying to move her and decides that she’s probably better off on a softer surface than wood, and she’s grateful for the fact that she hasn’t let her fitness levels go slack over the last couple of months as she hooks one arm under the back of Root’s knees and her other across the small of her back, lifting and carrying the other woman into her bedroom and depositing her on the bed.

She hopes that Root appreciates it, because if there’s one thing Shaw loves almost as much as shooting people and food, it’s sleep. But she knows she won’t get much of it, worrying if Root’s going to make it through the night (she’s pretty sure she will, but she needs to be _sure_ ), so instead she grabs another beer from her fridge (the one she’d been drinking before has gone regretfully warm and she thinks that Root can add that to the long list of inconveniences she’s caused Shaw tonight), sipping at it as she tries to find something to watch on the tiny TV she has in her bedroom.

The apartment itself is pretty tiny – and pretty shitty, too, but she supposes at least she has _somewhere_ to go when her day at work (or in hell, as she likes to affectionately call it), is done. She glances at Root and wonders if she can say the same – she’s fairly certain that Root hasn’t called anywhere home ever since she’d left Samantha Groves behind and adopted a new identity.

Shaw releases a quiet sigh as her eyes wander to Root for the hundredth time that night, thinking that her life would be easier if they’d never met. She still remembers their first meeting with startling clarity – it still smarts, the fact that Root had gotten one over her so easily, and she can still remember the feeling of being completely powerless, zip ties chaffing at her wrists as Root had leaned close and threatened to press an iron to her skin.

When she thinks about it, about how their relationship started, it’s almost a miracle that Root’s still alive, that she’s managed to worm her way so firmly into Shaw’s life that Shaw can scarcely even imagine a life without her in it. These last few months have been dull for a whole load of reasons, but there’s a part of Shaw that thinks that Root’s absence, and the flirting and the glances and the touching that came with it, have a big hand in it, too.

Root looks peaceful, with her eyes closed in sleep, more peaceful than Shaw thinks she’s ever seen her. She looks younger like this, almost innocent, and Shaw isn’t sure she likes it – she’s too used to Root shrouded with mystery, edged with danger, and the change is startling. There’s a little more colour in her cheeks, though, tinged with pink instead of ghostly pale, and Shaw is glad, relaxes a little with the knowledge that Root’s more than likely going to be okay.

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes but she must do because the next thing she knows it’s morning, weak sunlight filtering through her crappy blinds, and there’s a crick in her neck from sleeping upright in an uncomfortable chair and she groans as she straightens herself out, stretching her arms above her head and groaning again when she hears the joints crack.

She feels a set of eyes on her then and turns her head to see Root watching her, her eyes dark and she lets her arms drop back down to her sides, rubbing a hand at the back of her neck and wincing when it twinges.

“How long have you been awake for?” She asks, shifting uncomfortably under Root’s heavy gaze, and she watches the other women shrug before she hisses in pain – Shaw smirks and Root’s eyes narrow into a glare.

“A while. Couldn’t sleep.” Root’s voice is quiet and raspy, and Shaw gives her a once over and notes that she looks exhausted.

“So you thought you’d watch _me_ sleep instead?” She doesn’t like the thought, it makes her uneasy, because it’s not often she stays with someone, will always, on those rare occasions that she takes someone home with her for the night, kick them out before they can fall asleep.

“Well, you’re just so pretty to look at…” She trails off, a half-smirk on her face, and Shaw rolls her eyes. “And you fell asleep right there and it’s not like I can move. Were you watching _me_ sleep? Worried about me?” There’s a teasing edge of her voice and Shaw wants to be annoyed but mostly she’s glad that Root seems to be okay.

“Just worried about how bad it would look if I had a dead body in my bed,” Shaw replies, deadpan, and Root grins.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sameen.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are filled with something that makes Shaw uneasy. “I know that, somewhere deep down, you care about me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She pushes herself to her feet and stretches her arms above her head again, narrowing her eyes at Root when she notices the way the other woman’s gaze drops down to take in the thin strip of skin that the movement reveals. “Let me check your dressing.”

“I love it when you get so demanding.”

“Root,” she sighs, exasperated, thinking that it’s too damn early for this shit, but Root only smiles innocently up at her. She tugs at the bedsheet covering Root’s body and pointedly ignores the smirk she knows is on the hacker’s face as she eyes the bandage across her stomach – it’s stained with blood and Shaw tuts to herself as she peels it away.

“Do I get a shirt after you’re done with this?” Root asks, feigning disinterest as Shaw swipes at the wound with an antiseptic, but she can hear the catch in Root’s voice and knows she’s still in a lot of pain. “Or are you enjoying seeing me in my underwear too much?”

“I had to take the shirt off,” Shaw replies through gritted teeth, “because it was ruined and I didn’t want your bloodstains all over my sheets.”

“You didn’t have to put me in your bed.” Root sounds like she’s enjoying herself far too much, her voice light. “If I knew all it took to get into here was getting shot I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Shaw prods at Root’s stitches with a little more force than strictly necessary and feels a flash of vindication when she hears the other woman let out a low hiss, glances up to see Root looking at her reproachfully. “You know, your bedside manner could use a little work.”

“Well, if that’s such a problem for you, why don’t you go somewhere else?” Shaw mutters sullenly as she presses a fresh piece of gauze to Root’s skin.

“And miss out on the opportunity to spend quality time with you? Never.” Shaw shakes her head, ignoring the way Root’s skin feels warm beneath her fingertips as she smooths tape against the edges of the gauze. She feels Root shudder beneath her touch and looks up sharply, afraid that she’s hurt her, and sees Root looking at her with dark eyes and laboured breathing and quickly steps away, swallowing around the lump that seems to have formed in her throat.

“I’m going to make some breakfast,” she says after a moment of heavy silence, feeling a little like she’s suffocating beneath the weight of Root’s gaze. “You want anything?”

“I’ll come and hel - ” Root moves to sit up, wincing as she does, but Shaw stops her without thinking, pressing her hand to Root’s chest and gently pushing her so that her back is on the bed.

“ _You_ are staying here and not ripping your stitches,” she demands, and it’s only then that she realizes what she’s done, that her palm is pressed against Root’s breasts – she can feel the rough lace of her bra beneath her hand, the heat and softness of her skin, and the rapid beat of her heart beneath her ribs.

“O-okay.” Root’s voice is breathy, and Shaw meets her gaze to see that her eyes are wide, her pupils blown and she smirks at how affected Root is by this, and she thinks that this is probably the first time she’s ever managed to disarm her like this, the first time she’s ever turned the tables, and wonders what fun she can have with this.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” Shaw taps her index finger against Root’s collarbone, biting at the inside of her cheek to hide her grin when she hears Root’s breath catch.

“You’re the one in charge.”

“Hmm.” She’s more affected than she’ll ever admit to, with her hands on Root’s skin, leaning over her and breathing in the scent of her perfume, and she wonders what it is about Root that makes her so… desirable.

She’s not sure what it is, but she _is_ sure that she’s not going to give in to it. It would be too dangerous – Shaw doesn’t get attached and she feels like she’s already more attached to Root (and the other two – she keeps telling herself that Finch and Reese are just the same as Root, that she doesn’t feel anything different towards Root than she does for them, but some days it’s hard to convince herself of that) than she’d ever wanted to be. She doesn’t need the extra complications that would come with having something more, with giving in to the temptation that she has sometimes to grab Root’s hips and press her back against the nearest wall and kiss her teasing words from her lips, to leave her a breathless mess that wouldn’t be able to speak ever again.

“You stay here,” she warns Root one last time, moving her hand away from her chest and pushing herself to her feet, padding back into the kitchen. She fries some bacon in a pan and makes it into two sandwiches, putting one on a plate and munching on the other as she returns to her bedroom, thrusting the plate towards Root, who looks a little green and shakes her head.

“No, thanks.” She hasn’t pulled the sheet back over her body and Shaw wonders if she’s done it on purpose, forces her gaze not to lower to take in the sight of her exposed skin.

“You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Root repeats, nose wrinkling in distaste as she watches Shaw polish off the last bite of her sandwich, and she shrugs before starting on the second one, too.

“Your loss,” she mumbles through a mouthful of bread, and Root shakes her head slightly as she watches her with fascination. “What?”

“Nothing.” Root turns her head to glance at the clock on Shaw’s beside table then, pursing her lips when she notices the time. “Shouldn’t you be going to work soon?”

“I’m not going,” she calls over her shoulder as she returns to the kitchen, cleaning the plate and the pan and leaving them to dry; when she returns Root is propped up against the pillows, and she eyes her with disapproval. “I thought I told you not to move.”

“This is comfier,” Root defends, but Shaw takes in her pale face and thinks that she’s in a lot more pain than she’s willing to admit to. “And you should go to work. Act normal.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Shaw replies immediately, and Root smiles sweetly at her.

“Aw, Sameen, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m not worried about _you_ ,” she replies drolly. “I’m worried about you having free range over my apartment.”

“Ooh, what are you hiding that you don’t want me to find?” Root’s eyes are alight with excitement, and Shaw narrows her own. “Love letters about me?” Shaw’s eyes narrow further. “Or dirty notes about what you want to do to me?” And further. “Or do you have some interesting _toys_ that you don’t want me to see?”

“Is it fun, being so delusional?” She counters, and Root laughs, delighted.

“Relax, Sameen,” Root says then. “Seeing as I can’t move an inch without being in excruciating pain, your secrets are safe from me.” Shaw eyes her for a moment longer, and she sighs. “You can’t draw attention to yourself, remember.”

“Missing one shift isn’t going to draw attention to me,” she argues, incredibly uneasy at the thought of leaving Root here alone. “It’d probably draw _less_ attention, considering how often some of the idiots I’m forced to work with are off.”  

“You should still go.”

“What if you need something?” The words tumble from her mouth without conscious thought and she curses herself as Root smiles widely, mouth opening, no doubt ready with some teasing retort, and quickly talks over her. “Like the bathroom.”

“I’m sure I can manage.” A flicker of doubt passes across her face, though, and Shaw feels a flash of triumph. “I’ll go before you leave and hopefully won’t need it again before you come back,” she says then, and Shaw’s sure her face falls.

She really fucking hates her job.

“Fine,” she mutters eventually, because Root looks kind of pathetic, curled up in her bed like that, and she doesn’t know when she’d developed an inability to say no to her but apparently she has and she hates herself a little bit for it. “Here.” She tugs one of her larger shirts from her drawer, hoping that it’ll be big enough to fit Root and throws it towards her. “Put this on.”

“Not enjoying the view?” Root asks, wincing as she pushes herself so that she’s sitting upright and struggling to get the shirt over her head. Shaw sighs before stepping closer to her to help, ignoring the way her fingers tingle as they brush down Root’s sides. She shifts to wrap a hand around Root’s waist then, but Root moves to push her away. “I can do it,” she insists, but Shaw eyes her doubtfully, hovering by her side as she pushes herself out of bed – her legs shake but she doesn’t fall, and Shaw’s a little impressed, even as she notes the way Root’s biting down hard on her bottom lip, her face white as a sheet.

To her credit, she makes it to the bathroom and back without Shaw’s help, but when she collapses back onto Shaw’s bed she looks drained, paler than Shaw would like and she decides to give the other woman another pint of blood before she goes, just in-case she somehow manages to rip her stitches open during the day.

Root doesn’t complain about her fussing (in fact she looks like she enjoys it and Shaw’s not sure how she feels about that), and she leaves her after checking her wound one last time, leaving everything she thinks Root’s likely to need while she’s gone within reach, pressing a phone into her hand and telling her to call if she needs anything.

Her shift feels like it drags even more than usual (which is saying something). She’s so restless, unable to stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of the woman that she’s left alone in her apartment, that her boss asks her three times if she’s okay, and eventually he sends her home early, annoyance colouring his voice as he warns her that she’d better be in a better mood the next time he sees her.

She’s tempted to snap that she wishes he never saw her again, but she bites her tongue at the last minute, Root’s voice echoing in her head ‘ _don’t draw attention to yourself’_ and instead she just smiles and apologizes and leaves the store before he can change his mind. She stops at a supermarket on the way home to grab a few supplies, hating that, as she wanders through the aisles wondering what food she needs to buy, that Root factors so much in her thoughts. She’d gone from barely thinking about her at all to worrying about her all day and it’s… unsettling and she doesn’t like it.

She returns to her place to find Root in exactly the same position she’d left her in, lounging in her bed watching the TV, and she breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when she takes in the sight of her, deciding that she probably _hasn’t_ spent the day rummaging around her place.

“You’re home early,” she murmurs quietly as she turns her head to glance at Shaw, where she stands in the doorway, and Shaw thinks that this feels entirely too domestic, coming home to someone like this. “You didn’t get fired, did you?”

“Sadly not.” Satisfied that Root’s not going to get up to any mischief she leaves her, heading to the kitchen and putting the things she’d bought away. When she straightens up from the fridge and turns to see Root standing close behind her she jumps, annoyed at herself for not hearing her move, and frowns. “You should _not_ be out of bed.”

“I feel better,” Root replies and Shaw looks at her critically but thinks she does look a little better than she did this morning, more colour in her cheeks, a shine in her eyes and even though she’s holding her right arm a little awkwardly so it doesn’t brush against her side, she doesn’t look like she’s in too much discomfort. “You are so _cute_ when you’re worried.” Root reaches out a hand towards her face, attempting to brush some of her hair away from her eyes but Shaw catches her wrist, fingers pressing into her skin – Root only smirks, and when she next speaks her voice is husky. “And if you want me in bed, all you have to do is ask.”

“Not what I meant,” she says sternly, ignoring Root’s delighted look. “And you know it.” She’s still holding Root’s wrist tightly in her hand and she can feel her pulse hammering beneath her fingers. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better, it means I can have my place back to myself sooner rather than later.”

“Do you not like spending time with me?” Root pouts, and Shaw thinks she looks ridiculous and shakes her head, disgusted that Root thinks that would ever actually work on her.

“Yeah, it’s the highlight of my fucking day,” she mutters under her breath, dropping her hold on Root’s arm and turning away. “You hungry yet?”

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to insist I eat something.”

“Sit,” Shaw says, nodding towards the wooden table, half-surprised when she actually listens to her. She can feel Root’s eyes on her as she busies herself with making food but she doesn’t look up and again she thinks about the domesticity of this, is unsettled by how easy she’s found it, by how easy having Root here is – it only makes her more determined to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“You gonna tell me the story behind that bullet hole?” She asks as she’s frying a mix of vegetables on the stove for her stir fry, and she glances up to see Root resting her chin on the back of the chair she’s sitting on, watching her intently.

“There’s not much story to tell. She asked me to do something for her, I did… and I got shot.”

“Doesn’t she usually warn you about that kind of stuff?”

“She’s been… quieter, than usual.” Root’s voice is barely above a whisper, sadder than Shaw has ever heard her and she looks up sharply, takes in the lost look on the other woman’s face and wonders if quieter means that the Machine’s barely talking to her at all.

“Should I be worried about that?” She asks, because if the Machine is compromised, if it’s not working like it used to, with Samaritan around every corner… that’s definitely something she feels that she should be concerned about.

“No.” Root sounds sure, and Shaw marvels, not for the first time, at how she can have such blind faith in a _computer_. “She just… can’t talk to me as freely as she used to. That’s all.”

“And how are you holding up with that?” She asks softly, eyes never leaving Root’s face – she sees the flash of pain cross her features before it’s blinked away and she wonders how she must feel, what the loss of something she’d been so dependent on will have done to her.

“I’m fine.” But her voice sounds hollow and Shaw tries to look past Root’s injury, to see what’s lying beneath the surface – she takes in the bags under her bloodshot eyes that she’d originally thought were from her sleepless night but now she wonders when the last time Root truly slept was, notes the way she looks more gaunt than usual and wonders if she’s been eating properly, too.

She tells herself that it shouldn’t matter, that she shouldn’t care, but she _does_ – somehow, impossibly, she’d come to give a shit about what happened to the woman that had tasered her the first time they met, that she’d shot the second, and she thinks it’s a miracle that, after all that, they can sit here and have a civil conversation.

“Root…” Her eyes had been fixed on the floor, determinedly ignoring Shaw’s gaze, but at the sound of her name Root looks up, and Shaw finds that all her words flee her mind when Root fixes her with a heavy gaze. “You should be more careful,” she says eventually, her voice quiet. “You rely on the Machine too much.”

“It’s not like I’ve had much time to take self-defence classes.”

“I taught you a few moves.” She remembers that day in the CIA safehouse, those ten un-interrupted hours where she and Root had sparred, where they’d ended up pressed tightly against one another more times than Shaw could count, when Root’s laboured breathing had echoed into her ear and she’d felt sweat-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.

“True.” Shaw watches the way Root’s lips curve into a lazy smirk, has little doubt that Root is remembering that day, too – though she’s sure her thoughts are more inappropriate than Shaw’s. “That was fun.”

“Yeah, kicking your ass was pretty fun.” She enjoys the look of outrage on Root’s face more than she probably should.

“I beat you a couple times.”

“Yeah, because I let you.”

“Please,” Root scoffs. “Like you’d ever _let_ me win _anything_.” Shaw just shakes her head, even though they both know it’s true – and she’s never going to admit to the real reason why Root had gotten a one-up on her a couple of times, which was because she was too distracted by the closeness of the other woman and the amount of skin on show. “We should do that again sometime.”

“I’ll think about it.” She ignores the suggestive look Root’s throwing her, knowing _exactly_ why she wants to get physical and it’s got _nothing_ to do with learning how to defend herself. “You’ll have to avoid getting shot before we can, though.”

“It’s not like I _planned_ this,” Root replies indignantly, gesturing to her side with a grimace.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Her stir fry finished, she switches off the stove and grabs two bowls from the cupboard. “Injuring yourself on purpose just to spend time with me.”

“If I was going to do that,” Root murmurs as Shaw pads over to her with a bowl of food in each hand. “It’d be in a less painful way than a gunshot, I assure you.”

“Mm, if you say so.” They’re quiet as they eat, Root picking at her food while Shaw eyes her with disapproval, her own bowl clean within just a few minutes, and she washes up while she waits for Root to finish.

It’s strange, having someone else around. She’s so used to spending her days alone – at work she keeps to herself, interacts with customers only when she’s forced to with her supervisors eyes on her, and at home it’s just her, and while she’s solitary by nature it’s also… kind of nice. She actually _misses_ the stupid library and stupid Finch and Reese, she misses having a _home_ because that’s what it always felt like, over there, Bear always ready to greet her with a wagging tail.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice Root behind her once again, and she breathes out a quiet curse when she turns to find her stood close behind her, plate in her hand and a smirk on her face.

“Sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” she scoffs, and she’s all too aware of how close Root stands, can feel the heat of her skin, smell the faint scent of her perfume and shampoo, mixed with sweat and blood and it shouldn’t be intoxicating but it _is_.

“Whatever you say.” Root’s voice is coloured with amusement, and she’s got that goddamn smirk on her face and Shaw wants to wipe it away with her fist. “Thank you,” she says then, turning serious as she ducks her head, away from Shaw’s gaze. “For everything. I put you in danger just by coming here and you didn’t have to help me but you did, so… Thanks.”

“Of course I had to help you, Root,” she murmurs in reply, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation but unwilling to show it, and Root’s still got her fenced in against the kitchen sink so even if she wants to slink away and forget any of this ever happened it’s not like she _can_.

“And why’s that?” Root’s head lifts, her eyes dark as they meet Shaw’s. “Because you care about me so much?” Shaw clenches her jaw, eyeing Root warily as she sets a hand on either side of Shaw’s hips, trapping her against the counter, and she wonders if Root had somehow managed to find a wonder painkiller somewhere in this apartment because she’s sure she shouldn’t be moving so freely. “Is it really so hard for you to say out loud?”

“I’d have no problem saying it if it were true,” she replies sweetly, rolling her eyes when Root (predictably) pouts.

“Whatever you say, Sameen.” Root turns and walks away, then, and Shaw feels like can breathe a little easier without her there. “I’ll get out of your hair,” Root calls out, already near to the door, and Shaw frowns over at her, watching as she reaches for the leather jacket she’d been wearing yesterday. It’s black but stained darker with blood in places, but Root doesn’t seem to care as she tugs it over one shoulder. “I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”

“Is that a good idea?” Shaw worries at her bottom lip as she watches Root struggle to slip her right arm into the sleeve of her jacket, her muscles tensing as she grimaces in pain. “You turned up on my doorstep half-dead less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“Half-dead’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Not really,” Shaw shrugs, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter and folding her arms across her chest. “Considering you fainted and needed two blood transfusions.”

“And now I’m fine.” But she still can’t get her arm in the sleeve, and Shaw just raises an eyebrow as she watches her struggle. “Are you going to help me or just stand there?” Root asks eventually, frustrated, and Shaw shakes her head.

“No, because if we were fine you wouldn’t _need_ any help.” Root huffs, giving up and letting the sleeve flop against her side. “Where are you going to go when you leave here? Do you even _have_ anywhere to go?” She’s long suspected that Root doesn’t have a true home, that she just relies on the Machine to find her a bed to sleep on for the night, and she can’t help but wonder what she’s doing now, without the voice in her ear telling her where to go.

“I’ll find somewhere,” Root shrugs, like it’s no big deal, and Shaw sighs softly.

“No, you won’t. You can stay here for one more night.” Root looks at her in surprise, and she finds her jaw clenching again, wants to snap that it doesn’t mean anything but she also doesn’t want Root taking offence and skittering away, off into the night where Shaw can’t keep an eye on her.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Root says in a small voice, like she’s too used to being called an inconvenience, and Shaw wonders, not for the first time, what Root’s been through in her life.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” she points out, when Root continues to look uncertain, so far away from the confidence she usually displays when she’s flirting and she feels like a stranger and it’s disarming.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I’m not gonna make an invalid sleep on the couch.” She smirks when Root looks at her, offended.

“I’m not an invalid,” she says haughtily. “And I’m not going to force you out of your bed for another night. Unless,” her eyes sparkle and Shaw braces herself for whatever innuendo’s coming her way. “You want to join me?”

“I could think of nothing worse,” she replies flatly, and Root grins. “Take your jacket off if you’re staying, you look ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, Sameen,” Root murmurs as she shrugs back out of her jacket and hangs it back up on the hook by the door. “Inviting me to spend the night in your bed, telling me to take off my clothes…”

“Keep this up and I’ll throw you out on your ass.”

“Even after you just begged me to stay?”

“I did not - ” She cuts herself off, knowing that she’ll get nowhere when Root’s in a mood like this, and instead takes a deep breath and turns her back, bending down to reach into the fridge for a beer. “I got you these before,” she remembers as she catches a glimpse of the packet of pills she’d picked up at the pharmacy, chucking them in Root’s general direction as she flips the lid off her bottle and raises it to her lips. “Mention anything about me caring,” she warns, stretching a threatening finger towards Root as she opens her mouth, “and you’ll regret it.”

“As if I’d say such a thing.” Root feigns innocence, and Shaw grabs a bottle of water and throws that towards her, too, smirking when she hears a small squeak of surprise followed by a thud. “Throwing things at a gunshot victim, really?”

“It didn’t even hit your injured side.” Shaw takes another swig of her beer as she turns to look at Root, who’s holding the pills in one hand and the water in the other and glaring in her general direction.

“How do you know? You weren’t even looking.”

“Because I never miss,” she says smartly, self-satisfied smirk on her lips. “Whether I’m looking or not.” Root grumbles something that Shaw doesn’t quite manage to hear, and she watches the other woman tip some of the painkillers into the palm of her hand before swallowing them.

“Can I use your shower?” Root asks after a few moments of blissful silence, and Shaw wonders how many aspects of her life Root is going to invade – first her bedroom, now her shower – but she reminds herself that she _did_ ask her to stay (she’s struggling to remember _why_ because Root will be smug as hell about this), and sighs.

“You really shouldn’t get that dressing wet.”

“It needs changing anyway.”

“You shouldn’t get the wound wet, either.” Root just looks at her, that stupid pout on her lips again and she groans. “Fine. But come here, first.” She heads back into her bedroom and Root follows in her wake, curious eyes focused on her back. She grabs her first aid kit and a bandage more waterproof than the one Root’s wearing now and she gets the hint, curling her hands around the shirt Shaw had given her that morning and tugging it up over her ribs.

She lets out a quiet hiss of pain as the stretch irritates the stitches at her side, and Shaw moves to help her, yanking the shirt the rest of the way over her head, wishing that she could ignore the way their height difference means that when she ducks her head to tend to Root’s wound she’s practically at eye level with her breasts and this is _so_ not what she needed today.

She splays her right hand across Root’s ribs as she tugs the tape away from her skin, stopping her from shying away, knowing it must hurt, pressing her back against the wall behind her. She hears the quiet gasp Root lets out when her back hits the cool surface but ignores it, eyes glued to her broken skin, eyeing the line of black stitches critically, checking for any sign of infection.

Satisfied that it’s still okay she covers them with a waterproof dressing and tapes it back up, stepping away from Root and releasing a breath she hadn't realised she’d been holding only when she’s no longer touching the other woman.

“There you go,” she says quietly, hyper-aware of the flush that covers Root’s skin, the way her chest heaves slightly with the force of her breaths, and the way her eyes watch her, almost predatory in the way they drag across her body. “Shower ready.” She almost shivers under the heat of Root’s gaze, wondering when she’d become so easily affected by her, and blames it on the fact that she can barely even remember the last time she got laid. “Try not to need any help in there.”

“You mean you don’t want to see me naked?” Root looks offended, but Shaw doesn’t rise to the bait, just shoots her an unamused look – when Root’s hands drop to the button of her jeans, beginning to shove them down her legs she hastily turns her back and averts her eyes, and Root’s quiet laughter rings in her ears. “I didn’t take you for the modest type.”

“I’m not.” She was in the Marines, she’s seen her fair share of naked bodies, but that doesn’t mean that she needs the image of Root’s imprinted in her mind (so maybe she’s thought about it, about what Root looks like beneath her clothes, but god, that doesn’t mean that she needs to _actually_ see it – she’s not entirely sure she’d ever be able to recover from it, her imagination is bad enough, and it’s downright _distracting_ at times and Christ, it really _has_ been too long since she got laid). “Usually.”

“So you want to save the first time you see me naked for a more special occasion, I got it.” Shaw just shakes her head and sighs, wondering how many more times she’s going to need to do that before this day is done. “Can I borrow some more clothes?”

“I’ll leave some on the bed for you.”

“Underwear, too?” She can _hear_ the smirk in Root’s voice, doesn’t need to turn around to see it, and she grinds her teeth together before she answers, hating how much Root is enjoying this.

“ _Fine_.”

“Make sure you leave me a nice pair.”

“The only reason you’ll get a pair at all is so you’re not going commando in my apartment,” she mutters, surly, and when she feels a pair of hands pressing into her shoulders she jumps, startled, but doesn’t allow herself to turn around because she’d heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor and she’s pretty sure Root isn’t wearing a thing. “Go and get in the fucking shower.”

“Mm, have I mentioned that I love it when you’re demanding?” Root leans down to breathe the words against Shaw’s ear, her voice low, and Shaw growls, a retort ready on her lips but before she can speak Root is gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her and cutting off the sound of her chuckling.

Shaw mumbles to herself about what a terrible idea letting her stay another night was as she searches for something for Root to wear – she has no pants that are likely to fit her stupidly long legs so she settles for shorts instead, folding them and leaving them in a pile with the shirt Root had been wearing all day and one of her plainest pairs of underwear (she’s sure Root will still have a comment to make about them, though).

She stretches out across her couch as she waits for Root to finish, starting on her second beer as she watches a game on the TV, one ear listening out for the sound of Root’s voice, just in case she needs anything, but a call never comes.

She even manages to dress herself, because when Root emerges from Shaw’s bedroom she’s clad in Shaw’s shorts (they’re _really_ short on her and her legs go on for freaking miles and it’s a struggle for Shaw to avert her eyes), and shirt, and she stands above Shaw with her hands on her hips, an expectant look on her face. Shaw sighs and shifts on the couch so that her back is against the arm of it, giving Root enough space to sit at the other end.

“Well, this is nice.” Shaw had been wondering how long it’d take Root to say something, turns her head from the TV so that she’s looking at her. “You and me, cuddling on the couch…”

“I’d hardly call this cuddling.” Shaw drains the last of her beer in one big gulp, getting to her feet to grab another bottle because she’s sure she’s going to need it to get through the night.

“For you it is,” Root points out, and Shaw scowls – Root notices her expression when she returns to the couch and smirks. “Am I bothering you? Because _you’re_ the one who asked me to stay.”

“Don’t fucking remind me,” Shaw mutters to herself, glancing at Root and wondering what the probability of her doing serious damage to herself is if she does kick her out of the apartment, after all. “And don’t push it, either.”

“I can’t help it,” Root pouts, eyes watching Shaw closely. “You’re just so cute when you’re mad.”

“I thought I was cute when I was worried?” She raises a sceptical eyebrow, and Root grins and Shaw wonders how she can get so much enjoyment out of taunting her like this.

“You caught me,” Root says then, smirk back on her face. “I think you’re cute _all_ the time.” Shaw scoffs, downing half of her beer in one go, pretty sure that the word ‘cute’ has never been used to describe her in her life.

Angry, crazed and _terrifying_ , yes, but never cute.

“Whatever,” she mutters, hoping that ignoring the other woman might get her to shut up, and she turns her attention back to the game, stretching one hand behind her head as she pulls her legs up onto the couch, settling them in the empty space between her and Root.

“I never understood baseball.” Shaw is unsurprised that Root breaks the silence – she’s pretty sure that she can’t go for more than five minutes without speaking – and when she turns her head she sees Root eyeing the screen with her nose scrunched up in distaste. “What’s the point?”

“You really want me to explain the rules to you?”

“No,” Root looks offended at the suggestion, a haughty expression on her face. “I understand it, I’m not an idiot.” Shaw’s mouth opens to disagree, but she snaps her jaw closed when Root shoots her a glare. “I just don’t understand _why_.”

“Not a sportsfan?” Root shakes her head, and Shaw can’t say that she’s really surprised. “Well, what do you like, then?” She doesn’t know why she asks, aside from the fact that she’s always had a strange sort of fascination with Root, ever since their first meeting – she’s wanted to learn as much as she possibly could about the woman who had managed to incapacitate her so easily, had spent months doing recon and research on her after she’d seen her photograph in Finch’s library.

“I… I don’t… nothing, really.” Root looks taken aback at the question, turning to look at Shaw with surprise glittering in her brown eyes. “Hacking, computers… that’s about it,” she continues in a small voice.

“Then what do you do for fun?”

“You mean aside from torture you?” Root raises a suggestive brow, and Shaw just looks at her blankly. “I don’t have a lot of time for fun,” she shrugs. “I do what She asks – chase after numbers, go on missions, get shot at…” Her lips curve into a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Shaw shakes her head.

“Considering you could’ve died,” she points out, eyeing Root carefully, “you’re being pretty blasé about the whole thing. You always been this reckless?”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” she says, bluntly, but Root smiles a little smile that screams she doesn’t believe her, and Shaw wonders when she’d become so transparent.

“Whatever you say, Sameen.” She shoots a glare at the side of Root’s head, but the other woman ignores her, and she returns her attention to the game – and sharply away again when she sees Root rise to her feet from the corner of her eye, watches her saunter towards the kitchen like she’s lived here for years with suspicion in her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink,” Root calls over her shoulder, disappearing out of Shaw’s view and she’s up on her feet the next second, hurrying over to find Root searching for a glass to put the water she’s helped herself to from the fridge in to – she lets her look, instead of telling her where to find them; it’s much more entertaining. “Seeing as you haven’t offered me one, aside from throwing a bottle of water at my head – your hostess skills could use some work, too.”

“Yeah, because I’m so used to having company,” she replies drolly, because she can scarcely remember the last time there was someone else at her place – in fact, she’s pretty sure the last person was Root, that time she’d broken in and tased her when she was half-asleep.

“True. I’ll just have to come over more often so you can work on it.” Root’s back is turned to her as she finally finds the cupboard that contains Shaw’s glasses, so she misses the face Shaw pulls at her words.

“Uh, don’t even think about it.” Root lets out a low chuckle that quickly morphs into a hiss of pain as she stretches to reach for a glass, and Shaw tuts as Root’s free hand flies to her side, her face twisting in pain. “You really should be more careful, you’re gonna rip the stitches.”

“Good thing I know someone who can re-do them, then, isn’t it?” Root says lightly as she pours her water, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

“I’m not your personal doctor, Root,” she grumbles, annoyed, but Root only smirks as she raises her glass to her lips – Shaw tries to ignore the way her tongue runs across her lips after she takes a sip, but Root’s smirk widens and she thinks that the other woman noticed her watching the movement and curses herself for being so obvious.

“Why do you even have these up so high, anyway?” Root asks then, deftly changing the subject as she waves the glass in her hand. “Not like you can reach them.”

“I drink from the bottle,” she replies, absentmindedly reaching out her hand to circle to rim of the bottle of beer she’d been drinking earlier – when she glances up she sees Root’s eyes focused intently on the movement of her fingers and smirks. “And I’m not _that_ short.”

“Please,” Root scoffs, taking a couple of steps closer until they’re chest-to-chest. “You’re practically a midget.” Shaw glares up at her, but she’s so close that she has to tilt her head back and it just reaffirms Root’s point and she huffs, annoyed.

“I might look it to you because you’re a gangly giant,” she starts, and Root lets out a light laugh, “but I’m a perfectly average height.” When she’d been younger, and always a foot shorter than her next smallest classmate, she’d been teased a lot about it – until she’d punched someone in the face for calling her tiny, and no-one had bothered her about her height (or anything else), after that.

Somehow she doubts that punching Root will have quite the same effect. Hell, she’d probably _enjoy_ it.

“Whatever, Sameen.” That damn smirk is back on her face and this close Shaw can smell the scent of Root’s perfume mixed with the scent of her own shampoo, can feel the heat of her body radiating between them and she wants to pull Root closer and drown in her. “You’re still a midget to me.”

“One that could kick your ass.” She stares up at Root defiantly, watches as an indulgent smile spreads across the other woman’s face.

“Of course you could.” There’s a note of scepticism in Root’s voice and Shaw knows she’s doing it to annoy her, knows that Root knows exactly how to push her buttons and _hating_ that she can, hating _herself_ for reacting to it but she just can’t _help_ it, when Root’s around, and she reacts without thinking, stepping closer and forcing Root’s back against the kitchen counter, one hand curling around the marble on either side of Root’s hips, trapping her in place.

“Don’t push me, Root,” she hisses, watching the way Root’s breath hitches and her pupils dilate at the threat, and she licks her lips and Shaw’s eyes drop to follow the movement, transfixed for one long second before she snaps her gaze back up to meet Root’s eyes. “I mean it.”  

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Root’s voice is low and breathy, and Shaw hates that it sends a bolt of heat straight through her because it’s _Root_ and she shouldn’t want her like this, shouldn’t want to lift her up on the kitchen counter and fuck her until she could barely stand after, but god, there’s a part of her that wants that, maybe more than she’s ever wanted anything before in her entire life, and her hands clench so hard on the countertop as she tries to fight the urge to reach out and touch Root that her knuckles flash white.

“Believe me,” she leans forward to breathe the words into Root’s ear, smirking when she hears her breath catch, because if Root’s going to keep on messing with her, she’s going to give as much as she gets. “If I talk dirty to you,” she pauses as she dips her head, running her nose along the column of Root’s neck, satisfied with the sharp gasp she hears Root let out, and when she lets her tongue flick against Root’s earlobe before she murmurs her next words she hears a soft moan and thinks that maybe pushing this was a really bad idea because now that she’s heard Root make that sound she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get it out of her head, “you’ll know.” She breathes the words like a promise and then she turns and stalks away, back into the living room and sprawling back on her couch.

She turns her head when she hears the sound of footsteps after a few moments of heavy silence, and sees Root standing in the kitchen doorway, a flush staining her cheeks as she looks down at Shaw with unreadable eyes.

“Something the matter?” She asks, innocently, and Root’s mouth opens and shuts a few times as she struggles to find the right words, and she thinks that this is the first time she’s ever made Root speechless – if that’s the effect that flirting back with her will have then hell, maybe she’ll do it more often.

“No,” she says eventually, a tiny frown of confusion between her brows as she settles beside Shaw once again, and Shaw hides her grin behind the lip of her beer bottle as she watches Root eyeing her every so often, trying to work out the intention behind what had just happened in the kitchen.

If she’s being honest with herself, Shaw isn’t really sure herself. Because while she _did_ want to mess with Root’s head, just a little, as payback for all the times she’d messed with Shaw, there was also that part of her that wanted her, that had wanted to allow herself just a second to breathe her in, to taste her skin.

It’s a dangerous game that she’s playing and she knows it, because if she pushes too far, if Root pushes back against her after her initial shock, Shaw’s not quite sure where to draw the line – if she’ll even be _able_ to, because although she prides herself on her strong self-control, when it comes to Root she’s never truly able to trust herself or her instincts, because Root can put her off-balance with as little as a single glance. But for now, Root is quiet and Shaw enjoys the silence as they watch the rest of the game – her stomach rumbles as it’s finishing and she wanders back into the kitchen, searching through the cupboards and letting out a noise of celebration when she comes across a bag of chips that she’d completely forgotten she owned, tearing the bag open and shoving three into her mouth as she makes her way back over to Root, who eyes her in disbelief.

“Do you _ever_ stop eating?”

“No,” Shaw answers as she puts another handful of chips into her mouth, waving the bag in Root’s direction as she throws herself down on the couch. “Want one?”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Root watches her eat for a few moments longer before turning her head away, lifting one hand to her mouth as she yawns, and Shaw frowns as she remembers the little sleep the other woman had gotten the previous night. “Did you get any rest today?”

“What?” Root asks, blinking in confusion. “I spent the day in bed, I’d say that was pretty restful.”

“But did you sleep?” The other woman shakes her head and Shaw’s frown deepens as she allows herself to scrutinize Root’s face, once again taking note of the bags under her eyes. “Then you should go to bed if you’re tired.”

“What about if I’m _not_ tired?” Obviously recovering from the kitchen incident, Root’s voice is heavy with suggestion and Shaw rolls her eyes as Root’s lips curve into a smirk. “I can think of a few ways you could wear me out involving a bed, though. And a few _much_ more fun ways that don’t.”

“Yeah? Too bad I don’t want to hear about any of them.”

“Are you sure?” Root leans forward on the couch, and Shaw’s gaze drops as she notices one of Root’s arms move, watches as her hand lands on Shaw’s thigh, warm even through the thick material of her sweats. “I think you’d be very interested in what I have to say.” Root leans closer, so close that Shaw can feel warm breath against her lips and she clenches her jaw, refusing to be affected by Root’s closeness.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice is even, and she watches the way Root’s eyes flicker down to her lips as she speaks before back up to meet her gaze, her eyes dark. “And besides,” she allows herself to lean forward, just a little, smirks at the way Root’s eyes widen in surprise, and there’s so little space between them that her next words are practically murmured into Root’s mouth. “Even if I _was_ interested…” She trails off, feeling the way Root’s breath catches, the nails of the hand on her thigh digging deliciously into her skin. “In your condition there’s no _way_ you’d be able to keep up with me.”

“Why don’t we test that theory?” Root’s voice is breathy, affected by Shaw’s words, and when she turns her head, trying to connect their lips Shaw smirks and leans away, getting an immense sense of enjoyment out of the look on Root’s face as she stares at her, blinking slowly. “You’re such a tease,” she pouts and Shaw lets out a low chuckle.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” she shoots back, shoving herself to her feet and stretching her arms above her head. “I’m going for a shower,” she announces, giving Root one final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into her bedroom, letting out a quiet breath as soon as the door is shut behind her, wondering how much further she can push this before she goes over an edge that she won’t be able to return from.

She keeps the shower cold as she jumps under the spray in the hope that it will stop the heated thoughts that bounce around her head as she thinks about Root, wishing she could push the woman out of her mind for good – but when she emerges from the bathroom it’s to find her sprawled out across her bed and Shaw sighs as she runs a towel through her hair, ignoring the way Root’s eyes drag across her body, taking in the sight of her in nothing but a tank top and shorts, and she glares as she settles in her chair for the night, curling her legs up beneath her.

“Not going to join me?” Root drawls, eyes on Shaw’s face as she rests her cheek on the pillow, and Shaw can’t help but think that Root was a lot easier to deal with last night when she was unconscious.

“I don’t share well,” she replies easily, shifting in the chair to try and get comfortable, even though she knows it’s futile, but she’s slept on worse in the past.

“I promise I won’t hog the covers.”

“Go to sleep, Root,” she sighs, exhaustion creeping through her bones now that she’s ensconced in darkness, the few hours of sleep she’d managed to snatch last night finally catching up with her. “Or at least shut up so I can.”

“Fine,” Root huffs, but when Shaw glances towards her she can make out a soft, affectionate smile on the other woman’s face that makes Shaw’s stomach twist. “Goodnight, Sameen.” She doesn’t reply, only closes her eyes and tries to ignore the sound of Root, her even breaths as she shifts in the bed, and after a few moments of constant noise Shaw cracks one eye open, glaring.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to go sleep on the couch.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Root begins and Shaw sighs, opening both eyes and tilting her head behind her to rest it against the back of the chair, eyes on the ceiling. “But why aren’t you there anyway? Can’t bear to be away from me for too long?”

Root’s voice is teasing, and instead of answering her Shaw just leaves, stalking back out into the living room without another word, hating the fact that Root is right, that there is absolutely no reason for them to be in the same room tonight and she curses herself as she throws herself down on the couch, Root’s voice ringing in her ears.

“Oh, come on, Sameen, don’t be like that,” she calls out, but Shaw doesn’t answer, only closes her eyes and tries to ignore her. “I was only joking. Come back.” She hears Root sigh but then nothing else, and she turns onto her side, stretching out her legs and curling one hand under her head.

She’s always been able to fall asleep easily, too used to snatching a few hours of rest whenever the opportunity presented itself, and that night is no exception as she falls into a dreamless sleep within a few minutes – she’s woken by a cry after what feels like only a few moments and she blinks blearily as she comes to her senses, instantly alert as she pushes herself to her feet.

She hears the noise again, echoing from the direction of her bedroom and she pads towards it quietly, wincing when she catches a glimpse of the time and seeing that she’s barely had two hours sleep, and she’s ready with a reprimand on her lips as she steps through the doorway into her room, but the words die on her lips when she sees the way Root’s lying within, her body twisted at an odd angle, pained look on her face, her eyes scrunched tightly shut as she mumbles to herself, and it takes Shaw a long moment to realize she must be having a nightmare and it takes her another moment to react.

She steps towards the bed hesitantly, kneeling on the edge as she leans over Root and shakes her gently, scared that if she keeps thrashing she’ll open the her wound, and her hands are gentle but firm as they wrap around her shoulders – Root’s skin is clammy to the touch, and Shaw’s hands tighten around her, shake her a little harder and when she wakes it’s with a gasp, her eyes flying open and staring up at Shaw, unfocused but filled with the kind of fear that Shaw had seen in the eyes of people who knew they were about to die, and she wonders what haunts Root’s nightmares to make her look the same way.

“Shaw,” she breathes, her voice a broken whisper as her eyes regain their focus, and Shaw notices the way Root’s hands shake as they release the tight grip they’d had on the bedsheets wrapped tightly around her. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, and Shaw hates how distant she sounds as she turns her face away, jaw clenching in a way that makes Shaw wonder if she’s struggling not to cry. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hey,” she says softly, raising one hand from Root’s shoulder to cup the side of her face, “look at me.” Her head turns and sure enough, her eyes glitter with unshed tears, haunted in a way that Shaw’s never seen before and she wonders what it’s like, to feel something so deeply. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you didn’t care.” Root’s voice wavers as she inhales a shaky breath, and sweat beads on her forehead even though her skin feels ice cold.

“We both know that I do,” she says quietly in reply, but even that admission doesn’t draw a smile from the other woman, and Shaw wishes she knew how to help, how she could get the bleak look to fade from Root’s eyes because she hates it, hates how she looks like this, like she’s a completely different person.

“I’m fine.” But her voice isn’t convincing, and Shaw just raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Or as fine as I ever will be.” She mutters that quietly, and Shaw wonders if she was supposed to hear that, wonders just how often it is, exactly, that Root wakes like this, pale and trembling, and is unsettled by the thought. Root shifts, then, and winces, one hand sliding down to her side, and when she brings it back to her face her fingers are tinged with red and she looks at Shaw apologetically. “I think I tore my stitches.”

Shaw pulls the bedsheet away from Root’s body and sees blood staining her skin, tugs away the dressing and bites her lip when she sees the mess beneath, murmurs for her to stay there before disappearing into the bathroom to grab her first aid kit and when she returns Root manages a weak smile although her eyes are still haunted.

“This is going to hurt,” Shaw warns and Root just nods, turning her face away as her teeth close around her bottom lip. Shaw works as quickly as she can, removing the original stitches before putting in a fresh set, trying to ignore the way Root’s face twists in pain, and the tears that fall from her eyes – she wonders if they’re a result of what she’s doing or if her mind is still trapped in her nightmare, and decides not to ask. “There,” she murmurs when she’s done, pressing another dressing over the wound gently. “Root - ”

“Don’t,” Root interrupts, turning to look at Shaw, her gaze pleading, and she’s never seen Root look so vulnerable. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.” Shaw wants to disagree, wants to tell her that maybe it would help, but she’s not entirely sure that she’s qualified to help with something like this so she bites her tongue and just nods. “You can have the bed if you want,” she says then, her voice soft. “I don’t think I’m going to be using it much.”

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Shaw insists, because Root’s exhaustion is clear across her face and she needs the rest if she’s going to recover quickly from her injuries and it worries her, how far Root will push herself if the Machine asked her to. “You need it.”

“It’ll just happen again,” Root says bleakly, her eyes far away, “and I’ll just rip the stitches again so there’s really no point.”

“I’ll stay,” Shaw finds herself speaking without thinking, and Root looks at her sharply, confusion clear in her gaze. “I’m a light sleeper,” she explains quickly, cursing herself and _Root_ for always throwing her off balance. “So if it happens again it’ll wake me and then I can wake you.”

“Are you offering to sleep with me?” Root asks, and Shaw closes her eyes at the wondering tone of her voice, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Why, Sameen, I’m flattered.” Root’s voice is flat, her heart not truly in the remark, and it’s that more than anything that makes up her mind.

“I’m offering to sleep _next_ to you,” she clarifies, looking at Root sternly, “and only because you look like shit and it’s kind of weirding me out, seeing you so far from your usual perky self. Don’t read into it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Root’s eyes meet hers for one long moment, and Shaw wonders what she sees on her face, whether she can see the worry that she’s sure must shine through because she’s never seen Root like this, so small and so lost. “Goodnight, Sameen,” Root says again before her eyes flutter closed, and Shaw gathers up the supplies she’d been using and drops them off the side of the bed before lying on her side, eyes fixed on Root.

Her chest rises and falls in time with her even breaths, and Shaw finds her eyes roving across her face, searching for signs of distress but her expression is peaceful, colour returning to her cheeks and the longer Shaw watches her the more her worry starts to ebb away.

She can’t even remember the last time she slept in a bed with another person, and she tries not to think about how intimate this feels, that two days ago she could pretend that Root was nothing more than a minor annoyance in her life and yet now she’s watching her sleep, and she wants to curse Root for doing this to her, to reducing her to someone who cares like this, because the feeling is foreign and unsettling and she doesn’t know what to _do_ with it.

She doesn’t think that she’ll be able to fall asleep herself, not like this, with the warmth of another body so close to her own, but after a while she finds her eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time when she blinks, and eventually she can’t bring herself to open them again, lets her exhaustion sink in and lets sleep claim her.

When she wakes in the morning, Root is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Root slips her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket as she steps into the bar, leaning back against the wall as she lets her eyes scan over the faces within, and she smirks when she spots the familiar head of dark hair, dressed all in black, sipping at a glass of dark liquid at the bar.

She waits for a moment before moving, studying Shaw’s profile in the dim lighting. It’s been six days since she left Shaw’s apartment, slinking away before she woke up, unable to face her after the night before, when she’d been so weak and so vulnerable in-front of a woman who had probably never felt either of those emotions before in her life.

She knows it’s stupid, that Shaw probably wouldn’t have cared, but she just couldn’t bear it, didn’t want Shaw to think any less of her, didn’t want her to realize how different they were – that Root felt things so deeply, down to her very bones, whilst Shaw… claims to feel very little at all.

“Hi, sweetie.” She approaches Shaw after a few more minutes, sliding into the empty seat beside her and resting her elbow on the bar, resting her chin in her hand as she gazes at the other woman – she watches Shaw tense at the sound of her voice, but she doesn’t say a word. “Did you miss me?”

“Like an - ”

“Intestinal parasite, I remember,” she cuts in, a radiant smile on her face as Shaw finally turns to look at her. “I missed you, too.”

“That why you snuck out on me?” There’s a flash of something in Shaw’s eyes that Root thinks could be anger as she meets her gaze and Root studies her expression closely, curious.

“Are you mad at me because I left without saying goodbye?” It’s a fascinating thought, but as she voices it Shaw rolls her eyes, setting her now-empty glass down on the bar with slightly more force than Root thinks is strictly necessary. “How sweet.” Shaw scowls, and Root grins. “I thought you’d prefer it that way.”

“What, you wandering the streets with a freshly stitched gunshot wound?” Shaw waves over the bartender and orders a double bourbon, and Root’s eyes narrow, not wanting Shaw to be too incapacitated for what she plans for the rest of the evening. “You didn’t even call me to tell me you were okay.” She says that part quietly, staring down at her hands, and Root just looks at her for a long moment, stunned.

“You’re forgetting that we’re not supposed to be in contact,” she says in reply, keeping her voice light, and Shaw looks up at her sharply.

“Then why the hell are you here?” Shaw asks, eyes flicker across her body. “You’re obviously not hurt, and if you’re here just to chat then sorry, but I’m not really in the mood.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” But Shaw turns her back, pointedly ignoring her – at least until the bartender brings her drink and Root leans over to take it from her, raising it to her lips and taking a small gulp, grimacing at the taste. “This is disgusting, how do you even drink this?”

“Give it back to me and I’ll show you,” Shaw replies, her voice tight with anger and her eyes flashing, but Root just tightens her grip on the glass and smirks. “Root.”

“Shaw.” She watches Shaw’s jaw clench, a muscle in her cheek twitching with the force of it. “Do you always treat people you sleep with so well the next time you see them?” She’s always had fun pushing Shaw and seeing how far she can take it, and tonight is no exception – she watches the fury cross her face as her hand, resting on the bar, curls into a fist.

“Just give me my fucking drink,” she says through gritted teeth and Root relents, but not before downing almost half the glass, a tear almost escaping her eye at the bitter taste but she doesn’t want Shaw too drunk, and she hears the other woman growl before snatching the glass from her fingers and raising it to her own lips. “What are you doing here?” She asks again, and Root purses her lips in consideration.

“Well, if you’re going to keep being so rude I don’t see why I should tell you.” Shaw glares at her for one long moment before sighing and looking away, and Root’s about to open her mouth to tell her when she feels someone lean against the bar beside her and turns her head, taking in the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman with interest as she flashes her a soft smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She asks, and Root tilts her head, studying the blonde as she feels Shaw tense beside her and she smirks, wondering what fun she can have with this.

“Sure,” she replies breezily, turning her body away from Shaw and leaning towards the mystery woman, who looks delighted. “Surprise me.”

“Hmm.” The blonde takes her bottom lip between her teeth as she studies Root, her eyes running lazily over her body. “You look like a cocktail kinda girl.” Root just smiles, only half-listening as the woman orders, and when she glances back at Shaw it’s to see her glaring furiously at the side of Root’s head, clutching her glass of bourbon so tightly that her knuckles are white, and Root’s concerned the glass might crack.

“Something the matter, Sameen?” Root asks whilst the woman’s distracted, busy paying for their drinks, leaning so close that her breath stirs the strands of hair that have escaped from Shaw’s signature ponytail at the base of her neck.

“Why would there be?” Shaw’s voice is low, tinged with irritation and Root smirks, enjoying this far more than she should.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who looks like you want to murder someone.”

“That’s my usual expression,” Shaw hisses back vehemently, and Root’s mouth opens to tease her some more but the blonde has finished paying and is pushing some kind of fruity cocktail towards Root and she has to turn away, putting on her brightest smile and wondering how long she can drag this on for before Shaw snaps.

Her heart isn’t really in it, as she flirts with the blonde – Jess – because she’d much rather be flirting with someone else instead, but _that_ someone is too busy glaring daggers at the side of her head so she contents herself with playing this role, instead. It’s when Jess asks her if she wants to get out of here, her hand pressing into the small of Root’s back, that there’s finally a reaction from Shaw – she pushes herself off her barstool violently and stalks away before Root can reply, and she stares after Shaw as she disappears into the crowd of people before she turns to Jess with an apologetic smile and slips away.

Wind whips at her hair as she steps out of the bar and she spots Shaw disappearing around the corner and hurries after her, keeping her head down, conscious of the security cameras that watch her every move. Despite the wicked pace Shaw is storming away at, Root’s long legs allow her to catch up quickly, and she grips Shaw’s wrist hard and drags her down a side alley, out of the view of any cameras, and as soon as they’re in the shadows Shaw wrenches her arm out of Root’s grip, fury in her eyes as she rounds on her, her expression so dark that the breath leaves Root’s lungs in a quiet gasp.

“What they _hell_ are you doing?” Shaw asks her for the third time that night, her words dripping with venom as she takes a step closer and Root steps back until her back hits the brick wall of the alley, both scared and exhilarated by the look in Shaw’s eyes.

“I need your help.”

“You need my help?” Her voice is coloured with disbelief, her rage not fading in the slightest. “That why you just wasted thirty minutes ignoring me in favour of flirting with some random girl you just met?”

“Why, Sameen,” Root knows she shouldn’t push Shaw when she’s like this, but she just can’t help herself – she never can, when it comes to Shaw. “Are you _jealous_?” She watches the way Shaw’s eyes flash, her lips curling into a scowl as she scoffs, her voice cold when she next speaks.

“Why would I be? I don’t care what you do, or who you spend your time with.” Root tries not to flinch at the acerbic words. “Just don’t drag me into it.”

“So you wouldn’t care if I went back there and went to her place? You wouldn’t care if I fucked her?” Her eyes never leave Shaw’s face, curious at what she’ll find there, but the shorter woman’s expression never changes.

“By all means,” Shaw says as she steps to the side, allowing enough space for Root to pass, “go on. See if I care.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, enjoying the look of disbelief that flashes across Shaw’s face before she manages to control herself, but by then Root is already moving, brushing past Shaw and towards the mouth of the alley, waiting for Shaw to call out and stop her and wondering if she’s read this all wrong when no call comes.

“Wait.” Shaw speaks just as Root’s about to step out of the alley and onto the street, and she smirks as Shaw’s defeated voice reaches her. “I thought you needed by help.”

“Oh, I do,” she calls back, not turning around. “But if you’re going to act like this then I’d rather do it alone, consequences be damned.” She hears Shaw sigh, and then the sound of heavy footsteps before she’s pausing beside her, glancing up at Root, eyes still stormy.

“I’m not apologizing.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Root replies lightly, walking out onto the street, Shaw falling into step beside her wordlessly. “You can be jealous over me anytime, sweetie.” She hears Shaw’s teeth grind together as she throws her a sharp look and she grins, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I will punch you,” Shaw says, deadpan, and Root bites her lip to hide a smile. “What are we even doing, anyway?”

“I have a mission.”

“And I am with you because…?”

“Because I’m still a little incapacitated.” She waves a hand towards her side, to where the wound is still trying to heal – it’s a constant ache, and she’s gotten used to it, for the most part, but sometimes she’ll pull the stitches without thinking and nearly double over from the pain. “And if anyone gets up close and personal I don’t stand much of a chance.” She doesn’t like relying on others for help, hates asking for it, but it’s a little less awful when she gets an excuse to spend time with Shaw.

“How is it?” Shaw asks, keeping her voice emotionless but Root knows she’s genuinely interested, had seen the fear and the worry on her face those few short hours that they’d spent together when Shaw had fussed so much over her.

“I’ll live,” she shrugs, because she’s kinda used to it, now, has gotten more gunshot wounds than she wants to count over the past year – this one is probably the most painful, seeing as most of the others were to her limbs and not her torso, but she knows it could’ve been worse. “Thank you for asking.” Shaw mumbles something that Root is sure is unsavoury but she can’t quite make out the words. “You should be grateful, Sameen,” she points out as they cross the road, approaching the hotel that’s their destination for the night. “I know you’re going stir crazy. I thought I’d be nice and give you something else to do.”

“And I’m not complaining,” Shaw says quietly, glancing up at Root from the corner of her eye, “but aren’t we supposed to be keeping a low profile?”

“Which is why you’re not going to shoot anyone,” she says sweetly, but Shaw’s words send a flutter of worry through her chest, because she’s right, she’s putting Shaw in danger by doing this, but she’s not an idiot, knows she can’t do it on her own and she’d much rather spend the evening with Shaw than with Reese. “And you’re also going to have to trust me.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Shaw comes to a stop as Root makes to lead them up the steps of the hotel, glancing at her warily with her hands buried deep inside the pockets of her black coat. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re here for a romantic night alone, of course.” She watches Shaw’s eyes narrow, apprehension written all over her face. “Or that’s our cover, anyway. And with Samaritan watching, you’re going to have to be really convincing,” she adds, cheerily, and before Shaw can protest Root takes her hand and drags her up the steps and through the hotel doors, smirk on her face as she feels Shaw trying to tug her hand out of Root’s vice-like grip.

She approaches the check-in desk with a bright smile on her face, wrapping one arm around Shaw’s waist and pulling her close to her chest, ignoring the way she stiffens at the contact, and rests her other arm across the marble counter.

“Do you have any rooms for the night?” She asks the guy behind the desk, who immediately begins typing away at his computer, and while he’s distracted Root takes the opportunity to dip her head and press her mouth against Shaw’s ear, keeping her voice low. “Convincing, remember?”

“Go to hell, Root,” Shaw snaps back and Root tuts, disappointed.

“Come on, Shaw, you’ve never had a problem going undercover before.”

“Because it’s never involved pretending to be a couple with _you_ ,” she hisses, and Root pouts, feigning offence.

“Well that’s just _rude_ , Sameen, surely I’m not _that_ awful to be around. It’s for the good of the mission, remember that.”

“I’m struggling to see what kind of mission requires us getting a room for the night.”

“All in good time, Sameen, all in good time.” She dares to press a kiss to Shaw’s cheek and feels her tense, head whipping around to glare at her and Root just smiles innocently back, and whatever Shaw was planning on saying is cut off when the desk attendant speaks, instead.

“You’re in luck,” he says cheerfully, still typing away, “we have one double room available for the night.”

“Yay,” Shaw mutters sarcastically, and Root pokes her sharply in the side as the guy behind the desk eyes them curiously. “I mean, that’s great, thank you so much.” Root slides a card out of her pocket to pay and less than five minutes later they’re in an elevator riding up to the eighth floor, their room key clutched tightly in her hand. Shaw is quiet beside her, and only speaks again once the door to their room is shut firmly behind them. “You wanna explain what we’re really doing now? Or is this all just part of some elaborate plan to…” She trails off, and Root raises an inquiring eyebrow.

“To what, Sameen? Get you into bed?” Shaw doesn’t say a word, and Root smirks. “I assure you that I wouldn’t plan something nearly as intricate as this, but it’s cute you think I would.” She glares and Root laughs softly, stepping closer and watching the way Shaw eyes her warily. “No, what I need _you_ to do,” she grabs Shaw’s hands, and they’re promptly pulled out of her grip as Shaw takes a step back. “Is help me get eyes and ears on the room next door.”

Shaw doesn’t question her motives as Root hands her cameras and a mic that she feeds through the vent into the next room while Root sets up her laptop, directing Shaw on where to position the cameras to get the best view, and when they’re in place Shaw moves to hover at her shoulder, watching the screen carefully.

“So, what did they do?” There are two guys within, and while neither of them looked like the criminal type, Root knows that She is never wrong and she watches them carefully.

“They have an important document,” she answers quietly, watching one of the guys typing furiously away at a laptop with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what’s on it, just that She needs it to be destroyed before they can sell it on to the highest bidder.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Root glances up to see Shaw radiating nervous energy, desperate to spring into action after so long without it, and she throws her a disapproving look before turning her attention back to her laptop screen.

“We can’t just go charging in there without a plan.”

“I have a plan – I go in and knock the two of them out, you come in after and do whatever computer shit you need to do, we get out of there. Done.”

“Things aren’t always that easy,” Root murmurs quietly. “You can never be too careful.” Last time she hadn’t been, and she has a hole in her side to prove the merits of taking your time and Shaw sighs, clearly exasperated, before sinking down onto the bed behind Root.

“Fine, do it your way. Wake me up when something good happens.” Root rolls her eyes, glancing in the mirror on the wall opposite them to see that Shaw does indeed have her eyes closed, her arms folded behind her head, and she shakes her head.

It’s distracting, having Shaw so close again. It had been difficult for Root, to be away from her for so long, after they’d gone their separate ways, and after she’d risked her cover that first time she’d visited Shaw in the department store it was like a floodgate had opened, and she had no longer been able to stay away.

She was drawn to Shaw, in a way that she didn’t fully understand, and she wasn’t sure she ever would. She was intoxicating, in a way that was unlike anyone else that Root had ever met before in her life. She didn’t _do_ people, she didn’t enjoy spending time with them, interacting with them, but Shaw was… Shaw was different. Shaw was everything, and a part of Root hoped that Shaw never found that out because she was sure it would send her running, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to bear it.

Root watches the screen for a couple of hours, waits until one of the guys falls asleep while the other keeps watch before she decides to wake Shaw, but she’s barely even set her laptop down before Shaw’s eyes flicker open, instantly alert, and Root looks at her in surprise.

“What?” She asks as she sits up, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawns. “I told you, I’m a light sleeper.” Root’s mind flashes back to that night, to waking up from a dream haunted by the hundreds of people she’d killed, by Hanna’s face, by her mother screaming at her as she reached for another bottle of vodka, and she shakes her head quickly, trying to chase away the memories, feeling Shaw’s curious eyes on her and Root looks away.

She aches to know what Shaw had been thinking, when she’d agreed to sleep beside her (when she’d all but begged Root to stay an extra day, even though Root could tell she was uncomfortable having Root in her apartment in the first place), wishes that Shaw wasn’t such an enigma because it would make her life so much _easier_ if she could read Shaw like she could everyone else.

Maybe that was one of the things that drew them together.

“Shall we make a move, then?” She keeps her voice light, forcing herself not to think about the nightmares, not to think about the look on Shaw’s face as she’d stared down at her when she’d woken her, concern and something else that Root hadn’t been able to discern at the time.

“Okay,” Shaw answers softly, arming herself with two knives and a gun – when Root eyes her disapprovingly she sighs and shoves the gun into the waistband of her pants. “I’m going to use it if I need to,” she warns as she heads for the door, and Root just hopes it doesn’t come to that because the last thing they need to be doing is attracting attention to themselves.

She’d already stolen a keycard from a maid earlier in the day to give her access to the room, and she swipes it across the lock and steps aside to allow Shaw into the room first – she slips inside after and lets the door close behind her, watching Shaw knock out first one guy and then the other without even breaking a sweat.

She’s missed seeing Shaw in action like this, the ease that she moves with as she works quickly, and Root admires the way her muscles tense, the strength that she acts with, and it was more effort than she’d like to admit to shake herself out of the daze that watching Shaw had put her in and move over to the discarded laptop on the bed, not knowing exactly what she was looking for and frowning when she finds a sophisticated encryption.

The Machine’s instructions were a lot vaguer now than they ever had been before and Root was still adjusting to that, but she could feel Shaw’s impatience as she stood in the middle of the room, gun drawn and pointing towards the two incapacitated men lying unconscious against one wall. Root’s hands move quickly over the keys, and a tiny smile of victory curls at her lips once she breaks past the encryption.

“Well, it looks like these boys were planning something pretty big,” she murmurs as she flicks from one file to another, shaking her head as she goes. “Illegal weapons trading, bomb making… some involvement with a few well known terrorists groups… quite the impressive rap sheet.”

“Which begs the question – why aren’t Samaritan after them?”

“Maybe they are but we beat them to it.” Root doesn’t like to question the Machine’s motives, though she knows Shaw does, and she snaps the lid of the laptop down, deciding to take it with her so she can destroy it properly. “But we should probably go. Just in-case.”

“Mm.” Shaw’s hand closes around the door handle when there’s a warning whispered in Root’s ear, and she moves without thinking, grabbing Shaw’s arm and yanking her out of the way just as the door’s shoved open and two bodies step through. Shaw is quick to react as one of the guys reaches for his gun, shooting him in the kneecaps, but the second guy is quick, too, and Root acts automatically, pushing Shaw to the side – she feels pain ripple across her arm as there’s the sound of a gunshot and hisses in pain, nearly dropping the laptop that’s held tightly in her hands.

“We need to move,” Shaw murmurs urgently after she’s put the second guy on the floor and Root nods, hurrying after Shaw as she slips out of the door and down the corridor beyond. Root’s pretty sure that the guys weren’t Samaritan, that they were more than likely looking to buy (or steal) the laptop, but she knows that they need to be extra careful, and she’s tense as they step onto the street outside, convinced that at any second they’re about to be surrounded and dragged away, and she only feels like she can breathe again once they’re inside Shaw’s dingy apartment block.

She follows Shaw up the steps in silence, clutching the laptop to her chest with her right hand wrapped tightly around the wound on her left arm, and she remembers the last time she’d walked up here, holding her side and convinced that she wasn’t far away from death. She’d played it off when she’d been around Shaw, but she’d known that if she’d have lost much more blood that she wouldn’t be here today, and she hadn’t been able to leave this world without seeing Shaw for one last time, so she’d forced one foot in-front of the other, side screaming in pain, until she’d managed to make it to Shaw’s front door.

She’s glad that the circumstances aren’t quite as dire, this time, as she watches Shaw unlock the door and follows her inside, and she leans against the kitchen table as Shaw disappears into the bathroom, and Root shrugs out of her jacket while she waits for Shaw to return, examining her arm critically. It’s only a graze, but it’s bleeding freely, and she takes the cloth that Shaw hands her wordlessly and presses it to her skin, trying to stem the bloodflow.

“That was really fucking stupid,” Shaw says then, and the anger in her words surprises Root, and she glances up to see that Shaw’s lips are pressed together in a hard line as she avoids looking Root in the eye.

“What?”

“Pushing me out of the way like that. Stupid.”

“So you’d rather I let you get shot?” She asks, astonished, wincing as Shaw bats her hand out of the way so that she can examine the wound – she wipes at it with an antiseptic a little harder than Root thinks is necessary and she bites down on her bottom lip hard, but a whimper of pain still escapes her mouth.

“Sorry,” Shaw mutters, but she doesn’t sound very sorry at all. Her movements are methodical as she cleans the cut and then bandages up her arm, and Root waits patiently for her to finish, for her to speak again. “You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me.”

Root wants to tell her that she’d risk _everything_ for Shaw, but somehow she doesn’t think that that’ll be received very well at all so she bites her tongue and swallows the words and says something else, instead, her voice quiet.

“You would’ve done the same for me.” Shaw finally looks at her, then, her eyes dark with something that Root can’t read. “You’ve risked yourself for me more times than I can count.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” Genuine curiosity glitters in Root’s eyes as she watches Shaw closely, eyes never leaving her face.

“I’m expendable,” Shaw shrugs, and Root feels her heart clench in her chest because to her, Shaw is anything but – she doesn’t know what losing Shaw would do to her, and she never wants to find out. “But you’re not. The Machine needs you.”

“She barely even talks to me anymore.” She can’t hide the pained edge from her voice, the ache that she feels in her bones whenever she thinks of how long it’s been since they had an actual conversation, rather than the snippets of information she’s been getting lately. She’s _lonely_ , without the Machine in her ear, without a _purpose_ , and the past few weeks have left her with a lot of time on her hands, idle, and she hates it because without a purpose, without a focus, she is nothing.

Without a purpose her mind is free to fill with the memories of her past, with the faces of her nightmares, all of her mistakes and missed opportunities. She thinks too much about Shaw, about how much she’s come to mean to her – she replays every interaction they’ve ever had on a loop in her head, and she’s inescapable and Root wishes she wasn’t, wishes that she could forget her face and those haunting eyes. Root wishes that she didn’t dream of her, of touching her and feeling her come undone beneath her fingertips because it just makes her crave more, fall more deeply, and once upon a time when she’d still been Samantha Groves, Root had stopped believing in love but now, as she looks at Shaw, breathes her in and feels the heat of her body, so tantalisingly close but always, always so far away, she thinks that maybe it does exist, that maybe that’s why, when she thinks about something happening to Shaw, when she wonders what could have happened if she hadn’t pushed her from the path of a bullet in that hotel room, she feels a chill settle in her heart and the blood running through her veins turn to ice.

She wonders when she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with Sameen Shaw but she thinks she already knows – she’d felt something stirring within her that very first day, as she’d looked at Shaw with a glittering smile, settling between her spread legs with an iron warming in her hand, and she thinks that maybe it had been inevitable, _they_ were inevitable, drawn together, colliding and separating, over and over again and Root wonders how long it will be before she breaks.

“That doesn’t mean that She doesn’t need you.” Root’s pretty sure that that’s the first time Shaw’s ever referred to the Machine as that and she looks at the other woman curiously. “That doesn’t mean that _I_ don’t need you.”

The admission is soft, so quiet that Root wonders for a moment if Shaw had even meant for her to hear it at all but she does, her breath catching in her throat because Shaw was never been this open with her, has never openly admitted that Root is anything more than her than an acquaintance, and even though she’d always wished for more she isn’t an idiot, for all her flirting Root had never expected anything to ever actually _happen_ because she knows that Shaw believes herself incapable of feeling the same way.

But as she stares at Shaw and sees the open look on her face, usually so guarded, she wonders if maybe there’s a glimmer of hope for them, after all.

“So don’t throw yourself in-front of anymore bullets because I’ll be really pissed if you do, we clear?” Shaw finishes, quickly turning into her old self as she tries to brush off the seriousness of their conversation and Root smirks, wrapping her hands around the edge of the table and leaning back against the edge of it.

“That depends,” she drawls, and Shaw eyes her warily. “Will you _punish_ me if I do? Because that might just be worth getting shot for.”

“You don’t ever stop, do you?” Shaw’s voice shows her exasperation, and she shakes her head as she turns her attention away from Root, gathering up the supplies she’d used to patch up her arm and starting to pack them away.

“Oh, I could go _all_ night.” Shaw glances up at that, throws her an unamused look before turning away again, and Root grins, proud of herself. “Want me to show you?”

“I’m good,” Shaw replies dryly, and Root pouts when she leaves the room, disappearing back into her bathroom.

“You’re no fun!” Root calls, pushing herself away from the table and moving into the kitchen, frowning when she opens Shaw’s fridge and finds it devoid of anything other than beer, desperate for a drink but not quite feeling up for trying to stomach the cheap brand that Shaw prefers.

“Oh, I can be plenty fun when I want to be,” she hears Shaw’s voice behind her and straightens up, turning to see the other woman leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk on her face. “Trust me.”

“I don’t,” Root replies easily, taking a step closer and biting her lip to hide her smile when Shaw doesn’t move away. “So I’m afraid you’re just going to have to show me, instead.”

“Is that so?” Root dares to take another step closer, breathing Shaw in and wishing she could drown in her. Shaw tilts her head up, the look on her face almost playful and Root’s not sure where this version of Shaw has come from – the one that had pressed a hand to her bare chest and pressed her against the kitchen counter and flirted back with her – but she can’t say that she’s complaining, even though it’s thoroughly disarming, sending her mind blank and her heart racing but god, it’s so worth it. “Too bad I’m not in the mood.”

“Ouch,” Root pouts, letting one hand rest on the counter on either side of Shaw’s hips, trapping her in place much like Shaw had done to her the other day. “You really hurt my feelings sometimes, Sameen, do you know that?”

“You’ll get over it.” Shaw’s voice is even, an amused half-smile on her lips that Root longs to kiss away.

“I don’t think I will. You’re going to have to make it up to me…” She trails off, her voice heavy with suggestion and Shaw rolls her eyes and scoffs, drawing her arms across her chest.

“ _I_ have to make it up to _you_? When are you going to make things up to me? Twice I’ve had to play doctor for you - ” Root’s mouth opens, ready with a remark, but Shaw silences her with a glare. “You’ve slept in my apartment, I’ve fed you, kept you alive – where’s my reward?”

“Mm, I can think of _plenty_ of ways to reward you.” She leans forward, eyes flicking down to Shaw’s lips and she’s so close that she can practically taste her and it makes Root _ache_. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I am _so_ glad you asked.” Shaw shifts within the confines of Root’s arms, brushing easily past her and away and Root blinks at the space where Shaw had been, pout on her mouth again because she was so _close_ and Sameen Shaw, one of these days, is going to be the death of her. “Here.” Shaw hands Root a take-out menu and she feels a disbelieving smile pull at her lips because of _course_ Shaw would want repayment in the form of _food_. “They don’t deliver and I’m hungry.”

“If I go and get you something can I stay for the night?” She has no idea what Shaw will say – she knows the only reason she’d been allowed to spend the night last time had been because Shaw was worried about her, knows she’d been unsettled the entire time Root had been there, but there’s no reason for her to stay now, aside from the fact that she _wants_ to. The thought of going somewhere else, of spending yet another night alone weighs heavily on her, and Root had never thought that she’d be the type of person to ever feel lonely but without the constant stream of chatter in her ear she _is_ and the only time she’s truly felt at ease, _alive_ , ever since Samaritan had gone online and the Machine had all but disappeared from her life had been those few blissful hours she’d spent with Shaw.

“I guess,” Shaw says with a heavy sigh, like it’s a huge hardship, but Root wonders if she’s felt lonely these past few weeks, too – she can’t imagine it’s been fun for Shaw, spending time in a job she hates and then coming home to an empty place when the day is done. Root isn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. “Depending how quick you are. And how well you remember my order.”

Root writes the entire thing down (for someone who appears to love all kinds of food, Shaw is ridiculously specific about what she wants and Root wonders if she’s doing this on purpose, if it’s some kind of weird test – with Shaw, it wouldn’t surprise her), before tugging on her jacket and slipping out of the front door.

There’s a small smile on her face (even as she glares at the weirdo down the hall from Shaw who leers at her as she walks past), because this is the most… content she’s felt for a long time. And it’s probably stupid, because she knows that this won’t (can’t) last, that in the morning she’ll slip away and into yet another identity and she’ll leave Shaw behind, and the fact that she doesn’t know when she’ll see her again worries Root more than she likes to admit.

It’s something that has weighed on her heavily, these past few weeks – that something could happen to Shaw and she would have no idea. Once upon a time, she would’ve trusted the Machine to keep her informed but now… she’s not so sure and it terrifies her, that one day she could walk into the department store where Shaw works and find her missing, discover that Samaritan had found her and whisked her away and Root prays that that never happens, that she never has to feel that kind of pain but she knows that it’s a possibility, that the threat is very real – that just by interacting with Shaw like she has been lately is putting her in danger, but she just can’t bring herself to stay away.

She spots a convenience store across the street from the take-out place and ducks inside whilst she’s waiting for the food to be ready, grabbing a couple of bottles of water, and a bottle of wine, too, when she walks past the aisle, smirking as she thinks what Shaw’s reaction will be if Root dares to call this a date in-front of her. Her smirk turns wicked when she spots a toothbrush, too, chuckling to herself as she pictures the look on Shaw’s face if she finds it in her bathroom.

She’s going to have fun with this.

She pays before heading back over the street, leaning back against the wall beside the counter as she waits for her order to be called. She isn’t there long before it’s ready and she takes the plastic bag the guy offers her before hurrying back to Shaw’s apartment, shivering at the chill in the air, glad for the warmth of the apartment building as she slips through the front door.

She finds Shaw lying on the couch, her hair damp from a shower, curling around her shoulders and it makes Root want to run her hands through it, wonders how soft it would feel, wrapped around her fingers, as she lets Shaw’s keys drop into the dish by the front door.

“Hopefully it’s to your liking,” Root murmurs as she hands the bag of food to Shaw, leaving her to empty out the containers as she wanders into the kitchen, grabbing two forks and two wine glasses, and Shaw eyes Root warily as she settles beside her on the couch.

“The hell is this?” Shaw asks as she starts on her food, watching Root twist the bottle off the wine and pour a generous amount into one of the glasses before lifting it to her lips.

“It’s wine, Sameen,” she answers drolly, and Shaw rolls her eyes. “It’s what sophisticated people drink on dat - ”

“This is _not_ a date,” Shaw interrupts hastily, a slightly panicked look on her face that has Root biting her lip to hide a smile. “I don’t date. And if I _did_ ,” she glances at Root with contempt. “I wouldn’t date _you_.”

“Ouch.” Root lifts a hand to press to her chest, pout forming on her lips. “There you go again, hurting my feelings.”

“Strangely enough,” Shaw replies as she stabs at her food with her fork. “I don’t care.”

“See, you _say_ you don’t care about me,” Root drawls after taking a long sip from the glass in her hands, and Shaw looks at her warily. “But you give me so many mixed signals that I really don’t know _what_ to believe.”

“Mixed signals?”

“Earlier you told me that you needed me,” she reminds Shaw happily, grinning when she sees Shaw sigh. “I’d say that was a pretty mixed signal, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean - ” But Shaw cuts herself off, jaw clenching as she struggles to find the right words and Root just watches her curiously. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” she settles on, eventually, and Root raises an eyebrow and she swears that she sees the faintest hint of a blush staining Shaw’s cheeks, and this is possibly the most flustered that Root has ever seen her. “I just… You make my life more interesting. Better.” Root is stunned by the words, the most open and honest Shaw has ever been with her, and she finds any words she might have in reply sticking in her throat, her heart thumping an uneven rhythm in her chest. “So it’d suck if anything happened to you. That’s all.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” And she means it, too, because although it doesn’t sound like much, coming from Shaw, who struggles so much with feeling emotion and even more to express it, it means the world. Shaw’s eyes meet hers for a long moment, and she watches Shaw’s throat bob as she swallows hard before she looks away.

“Oh, shut up,” Shaw grumbles into her noodles, and Root grins. “You gonna drink that entire bottle by yourself?” She asks then, deftly changing the subject. “Cause you strike me as kind of a lightweight and I don’t want to be picking you up off the floor later on tonight.”

“If you want some, Sameen, all you have to do is ask.” She leans forward to pour another glass, handing it to Shaw and making sure their fingers brush together when she does, and then her voice turns teasing. “Although aren’t you afraid that sharing might make it too much like a date?”

“Friends can share a bottle of wine.”

“You consider me a _friend_?” Her voice is gleeful, and she watches Shaw’s eyes flutter closed, jaw clenching as she realizes what she’s said, and Root can’t stop the grin that curls at her lips. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t read into it,” Shaw warns, voice low, and Root only smirks as she grabs her own food from the table and begins to eat, enjoying the silence and just being close to Shaw – it’s kind of pathetic, how much this means to her, how much being around Shaw puts her at ease, how much she craves her and the way she manages to make her feel with as little as a single glance.

“Am I allowed to use your shower again?” Root asks when she’s finished eating, handing Shaw her leftovers wordlessly, thinking it’ll soften her up a bit – she still sighs in exasperation at Root for having the audacity to ask, but she nods tersely all the same as she stuffs a spring roll into her mouth and Root shakes her head, thinking she’ll never quite get used to the way Shaw eats, devouring it as if it’ll be her last meal. It makes her think about how Shaw would devour _other_ things, sometimes, when she watches her, and now is no exception as she shakes her head again to try to clear it before wandering into Shaw’s bedroom.

She leaves the door open as she strips out of her clothes, and as she’s sliding her bra from her shoulders she hears a noise from behind her and turns her head to see that Shaw has risen from the couch and is staring at her, the containers that she must have been carrying to the trash now littering the floor.

She turns around fully as she hooks her fingers through her underwear and slides them down her legs, her eyes never leaving Shaw’s face. She watches the way her gaze drops, running over every inch of her skin and Root feels the heat of it like a physical thing, scorching through her like it was Shaw’s fingertips, instead, and she feels heat flare through her, pooling between her thighs when Shaw’s eyes snap up to meet hers, darker than Root’s ever seen them, and she smirks, practically begging her to step closer and ravage her like she wants – like she suspects Shaw wants, too. She’s imagined it, hundreds of times, the way Shaw would mark her skin, leaving behind scratches and cuts and bruises that would linger for days, a constant reminder of the things that they’d shared, and she’s never wanted it more than she does in that moment, as Shaw stares wordlessly at her from across the room, the space between them feeling like miles.

She can’t stop the flare of disappointment that settles in her chest when Shaw takes a deep breath, sets her jaw and walks away, disappearing from view. But it doesn’t ruin her mood, still high on the fact that she’s allowed to stay here for one more night, that Shaw had admitted that she needed Root in her life, and she steps into Shaw’s bathroom with a smile on her face.

She slips the bandage from her arm before she steps under the hot spray of the water, sighing in contentment as she washes the day from her skin, wincing as both the graze on her arm and the line of stiches across her stomach sting beneath the force of the spray.

The pain fades after a few moments, though, and she washes her hair with Shaw’s shampoo and scrubs her skin with Shaw’s shower gel and closes her eyes, more content than she thought it was possible to feel, knowing that Shaw’s scent will linger on her skin for days afterward (the fact that she knows it’ll irritate Shaw, that she’s using her things, is just an added bonus).

She’d snuck the toothbrush into the bathroom with her and when she’s shut off the water and wrapped a towel around her body she leaves it beside Shaw’s with a smirk on her face, already eager for Shaw to find it – and wondering what other things she can get away with sneaking into her apartment before she never lets Root inside it ever again.

She’s rummaging through Shaw’s drawers for some clothes to steal when she feels a presence hovering in the doorway and when she glances up she sees Shaw standing there with her arms folded across her chest, glare on her face, and smiles sweetly as she hooks a pair of red lacy underwear around her finger and holds them up, eyeing them with interest.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she drawls, watching the way Shaw’s hands clench into fists, a muscle twitching in her cheek, irritation written across her face, “because these are _hot_ ,” she pauses, imagining Shaw wearing them and appreciating the imagery, “but I figured you for more of a practical, boyshorts kinda girl.”

“Get the _hell_ out of my - ”

“Ooh,” Root cuts her off, spotting a thong at the very back of the drawer and reaching for it, holding it up and biting her lip. “Even _better_.” She hears a growl of frustration from behind her, and then Shaw is at her side, snatching the underwear from her hand and slamming the drawer shut before shoving Root bodily away from her – she collides with a wall and the movement causes the towel to slip from her waist and Shaw hastily averts her eyes. “You know,” Root lets out an exaggerated sigh as she leans back against the wall, smirking at Shaw’s turned back, “if you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just _asked_.”

“Thought you liked it rough?” Shaw shoots back and Root stares at the side of her head, surprised that the words had come from her mouth – it was something that _she_ would say, but not Shaw. She really _is_ full of surprises today.

“Only when I ask for it, Sameen.” She allows herself a second to think about it, about what it would be like to let Shaw take everything that she had to give and more, to surrender herself completely, and she shudders at the thought, mouth going dry. “Otherwise it’s no fun.”

“Can you please put some clothes on?” Shaw asks, then, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably – the movement is so slight that other people might not have noticed it, but Root does. She notices everything about Shaw.

“Why? Are you not enjoying the view?” She bends to pick up the towel, folding it neatly and placing it on the edge of the bed. “I never took you for a prude.”

“I’m not,” Shaw answers immediately, as Root reaches for her underwear and her bra, tugging them on as slowly as she dares. “There was no room for it in the Marines. I just don’t want to see _you_ naked.”

“Then why are you watching me in that mirror over there?” Root asks casually, not letting Shaw’s words offend her, and as their eyes meet in the glass and Shaw realizes she’s been caught her cheeks flame red and Root grins, delighted.

“I’m just checking you’re not looking through any more of my stuff,” Shaw tries to defend, but there’s the tiniest strain in her voice that tells Root that she’s lying.

“Whatever you say.” There’s a grin on Root’s face as she perches on the edge of Shaw’s bed, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands, spread behind her. “Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone that you think I’m attractive.”

“I don’t - ” Shaw whirls around, and cuts herself off when she sees that Root’s still pretty much naked, lying on her bed like an offering, and her eyes scan down the length of her body, lingering at her chest and then at her legs before she swallows and lets out a quiet sigh. “Yeah okay fine, you’re hot. Anyone with eyes can see that.” Root absorbs the praise, head tilted to one side, enjoying the way Shaw’s eyes can’t seem to focus on her face for longer than a few seconds before dragging down her body. “But just cause I think you’re attractive doesn’t mean that I’m attracted _to_ you.”

“I’d be more convinced if you weren’t looking at me like _that_.” Their eyes meet, Shaw’s dark and filled with something Root is pretty sure is desire and she feels her body reacting to it, heart pounding in her chest as a flush covers her skin, fire in her veins and she wishes Shaw would take a step closer, that she could reach out for her, because she’s sure that if she drags Shaw close enough, if she could cover her mouth with her own, that whatever resolve Shaw has that’s keeping her away will crack and she _longs_ for it, more than anything else she’s ever wanted in her life.

“Just put some fucking clothes on, Root.” The demand is low, Shaw’s breathing shallow, and Root feels like her own is laboured, like she’s just run a marathon.

“Why, am I distracting you?” She leans even further back on her hands, tossing her hair over one shoulder and arching her chest, just a little – Shaw’s eyes drop, and Root watches her tongue flick against her lips and nearly moans at the sight. “That’s what I was doing when you so rudely interrupting me, by the way. Looking for something to wear.”

“Rudely interrupting – you know what, never mind.” Shaw mutters to herself, shaking her head and turning away, yanking a different drawer open and pulling out the shorts and shirt that Root had borrowed last time she’d been here and throwing them towards her. She isn’t expecting it, and they hit her square in the face, and when the clothes fall into her lap she sees Shaw smirking in amusement. “Why you were looking for clothes in my _underwear_ drawer, I don’t know.”

“How was I supposed to know what was in there?” Root asks innocently as she rises to her feet and tugs the shirt over her head before dragging the shorts up her legs.

“You must have realized when you _opened_ it.”

“I thought there might have been something hiding at the back.” Shaw looks at her in disbelief before shaking her head and walking away, but not before shooting Root a look that says ‘touch any of my stuff again and you’ll regret it’.

Root kind of wants to, just to see what she’ll do.

But she doesn’t, and instead she follows Shaw back into the living room and finds her stretching a sheet across the couch, tucking it into the cushions before throwing a blanket over the top of it, and Root frowns as she glances down at it.

“Are you going to make me sleep on the couch?”

“Yes,” Shaw answers, and her frown turns into a pout because she’d been kind of looking forward to sharing a bed with Shaw again. She looked different, when she slept – beautiful, the hard, sharp edges of her face softened, and when Root had woken up beside her she’d thought that she wouldn’t mind doing it more often.

A dangerous thought, she knows. She shouldn’t get used to this, to what they have – this easy way with which they exist around each other, the time they spend together – because it’s all just temporary. Everything in Root’s life is. She moves, from one place to another, one identity to another, a chameleon in every sense of the word, and she knows that, sooner rather than later, she will have to do that in this life, too.

It just makes her want more, though, makes her want to take as much of Shaw as she can get, spend as much time as she possibly can with her while she still has the chance. While they’re both still alive, still breathing, while they’re together, even though she knows in her heart that they shouldn’t be, that the danger they’re each in is increased every second that they spend here. Shaw’s apartment is shrouded from security cameras, from Samaritan, as are most of the streets immediately around it, but not all of them.

They will be caught, sooner rather than later, Root knows, but instead of making her want to stay away it only makes her want to _stay_ , never want to leave this apartment with Shaw because at least here Root can see her and she knows that she’s _safe_.

“I got shot,” she reminds Shaw, still trying to worm her way into her bed, and Shaw scoffs as she straightens up and meets Root gaze, temporary bed made.

“You were grazed.”

“I was still shot. For _you_.”

“And I already told you how stupid you were for doing that,” Shaw replies easily, arms folded. “If you’re looking for sympathy, Root, you’re talking to the wrong person. You can sleep out here, or you can leave, sleep on the street for all I care.”

“Fine,” she sighs dramatically, throwing herself down on the couch and watching as Shaw’s lips twitch in the hint of a smile at her antics. “Check my wounds before you go?”

“You’re fine, Root.” She just looks at Shaw expectantly, until she sighs and steps forward, in-between Root’s legs and she feels her breath hitch at Shaw’s closeness, surrounded by the scent of her perfume as she leans down, hair falling in-front of her eyes as she glances at the cut on her arm. “Absolutely fine.”

“And what about my other one?” Shaw looks at her sharply as Root’s hands curl around the hem of her shirt before she sighs again and tugs it up herself. Root leans against the back of the couch and tries not to shudder as Shaw’s cool hand flattens across her heated skin, lips pursing as she glances at the thin line marring Root’s skin.

“These can probably come out,” Shaw murmurs quietly, running her thumb across the length of the wound of Root’s pretty sure she stops breathing. “You want me to do it now or in the morning?”

“Now is fine,” Root shrugs, and Shaw nods before disappearing, returning with her first aid kit in her hand. “Maybe you just shouldn’t put that away whenever I’m around.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of getting that vibe.” Shaw motions for her to lie down and she stretches languidly back against the couch cushions, turning her head to watch Shaw work. It seems effortless, her movements sure and easy as she removes the stiches one by one, tiny frown of concentration settling between her eyebrows that Root longs to smooth away with the touch of her hand. She knows it shouldn’t be but it’s distracting, the feeling of Shaw’s hands moving across her skin, her head leaning so far forward as she focuses on what she’s doing that she can feel the other woman’s heated breath whispering against her and she shivers despite the sting as Shaw drags an antiseptic across the thin line of red when all the stiches are gone. “There. Am I allowed to go to bed, now?”

“You definitely would be if you asked me to go with you.” She doesn’t move from her position, stretched out all but beneath Shaw, and the other woman’s eyes glitter with amusement as she looks down at her, half-smile on her face.

“Not a chance.”

“You’re so _boring_.” She dares to reach out a hand and trace a single finger along the collar of the shirt Shaw’s wearing, unable to resist touching her when she’s within arm’s reach, releasing a shaky breath when she doesn’t move away.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Hm.” When Root’s finger leaves the soft cotton of Shaw’s shirt to instead trace across skin, skirting along a collarbone, Shaw’s hand is quick to move, encircling her wrist gently but firmly and tugging her away. “Not for you and me.”

“Why?” She’s transfixed by the look on Shaw’s face, by the way her eyes glitter in the dim lighting. She doesn’t know what it is that makes her ask (part of her doesn’t want to know the answer), but it’s something she’s always wondered about – because she’s sure there’s a part of Shaw that wants her, too, but she’s never come close to giving in, always looks like she’d rather punch Root than kiss her, when it came down to it, and she’s always wondered _why_.

“Because I can’t give you what you want,” Shaw says softly, and it’s more honesty than Root had ever expected from her, as she looks down at the hacker with eyes tinged with warmth.

“I don’t want anything from you.” They both know it’s a lie, though – she wants everything from Shaw. But she’ll take whatever she can get.

“I’d break you.” It sounds like a promise, and Root’s pulse quickens, and she wonders if Shaw can feel it, beneath where her fingers are still pressing into the skin of her wrist. “And I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What if I want you to?” Root’s voice is breathless, and the feels like she’s teetering at the edge of a precipice, that she’s finally tugging Shaw towards the edge.

“You don’t,” Shaw murmurs in a soft voice, and the hand that’s not wrapped around her wrist moves to cup her face, thumb sliding across her cheek – Root sees the way Shaw watches the movement, like she can scarcely believe that she’s doing it (and neither can Root). “Not like I will.”

“You don’t know that.” There’s a pleading edge to Root’s voice, filled with a desperation she hadn't known is was possible for her to feel as she feels Shaw slipping away from her, as she watches the guarded look that she always seems to wear slipping back over her features, masking whatever she’s feeling beneath.

“I do.” There’s a certainty to her voice that Root wants to argue with, wants to tell her that she’s being stupid, that if Shaw dragged Root to her feet and took her into her bed and sunk her fingertips into her skin, that nothing would happen. That they could be the kind of people that fuck whenever there’s a free moment, whenever they need the release, but as she looks at Shaw and sees the look on her face the words stick in her throat, because it would be a lie.

Because she thinks she’s in love, and if she fell into bed with Shaw she knows that there would be no coming back, and from the way Shaw’s looking at her she thinks that she might know that, too.

“Goodnight, Root.” Shaw disappears, then, and Root curses her as her mind churns, knows that she doesn’t have a hope in hell of getting any sleep now. She isn’t left alone for long, though, because she hears Shaw’s outraged voice echoing through the apartment. “Root! What the _hell_ is this?”

She stares at the ceiling for a long moment, frown on her face because she doesn’t know what she could have done to annoy Shaw from all the way from out _here_ , but then she remembers. The toothbrush. And sure enough, when she pushes herself so that she can peer over the back of the couch it’s to see Shaw brandishing it in one hand, scowl on her face.

“What? I needed one.”

“Not to leave _here_!”

“I was just leaving it for the night.” She hadn’t been planning on it, but Shaw doesn’t need to know that, and she tries to keep her voice innocent but she’ sure that Shaw sees right though her. “Are you really this terrified of commitment?”

“I am not _committed_ to you!” Root thinks that this is possibly the most worked up that she’s ever seen Shaw, her agitation on her face, and she watches as she takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. “ _This_ is why I shouldn’t have let you stay here.”

“Why, because I left a toothbrush in your bathroom? I guess you really _are_ terrified of commitment.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Mm, I look forward to it.” She runs her tongue over her teeth, because she still can’t help pushing –her body still wants Shaw even though her mind knows that it’s probably a terrible idea. But then again, she never _had_ been very good at following rules. Her own or anybody else’s.

Shaw stalks away then, without another word, slamming the door to her bedroom so hard behind her that it rattles in its hinges. Root doesn’t miss the fact that Shaw had taken the toothbrush with her, and wonders if she’ll find it back in its place in the bathroom in the morning, and smirks to herself as she settles back down on the couch, throwing one arm behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling once again, still resigned to the fact that she won't be getting any sleep tonight.

She remembers, as she lies there, the look on Shaw’s face as she’d stared at her from the doorway, the cool anger, the way she’d looked as though she wanted nothing more than to rip Root apart (Root would let her, would willingly allow herself to be destroyed by Shaw – would revel in it), and it sends a flash of heat through her body.

She can almost feel Shaw’s hands on her skin – the cool press of her fingers against her wrist, the press of her hand against her stomach to keep her still as she pulled stitches from her side – and she bites her lip as she lets her eyes fall closed, letting one of her own hands drift across her body.

She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be touching herself and wishing it was Shaw in Shaw’s apartment when she was sleeping just a few feet away but god, she can’t help it. She’s like an addict, when it comes to Shaw, and this is her way of getting her fix, as she slips one hand down the front of the tiny shorts and settles the other at her chest, twisting one of her nipples between her fingers roughly, teeth biting harder against her lip to quiet herself at the feeling, because the last thing she needs is to wake Shaw, to have her find her like this (although she’d be lying if she said that there wasn’t a part of her that wanted exactly that).

It’s no surprise when she finds herself slick beneath her fingertips (it’s one of the consequences of spending so much time with Shaw, she’s found, and she’s lost count of the amount of times she’s gotten herself off like this after seeing her and she knows it’s wrong she shouldn’t but she just can’t _stop_ ), and she circles her clit lazily before pressing one finger inside of herself, spreading her thighs slightly as she raises her hips against her hand.

She’s done this enough times for her to know the quickest way to reach the edge and it isn’t long before her breathing turns laboured, two fingers working frantically against her sex, palm grinding against her clit with every thrust, and she’s almost there when she hears a noise, just the tiniest intake of breath and her eyes fly open to find Shaw standing just a few feet away from her, at the end of the couch and staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

Root doesn’t stop what she’s doing – _can’t_ , not with Shaw’s eyes on her, and she watches the way Shaw’s eyes slip down to watch the muscles in her arm tense and flex as she presses inside of herself before dragging back up to meet her gaze, and Root shudders when she sees the desire pooling in her eyes as her hands twitch at her sides, as if she’s at war with herself, like she wants to reach out and touch her but can’t quite bring herself to and Root wants to beg her to, wants to pull her closer and let Shaw replace Root’s hand with her own.

With Shaw’s eyes on her, when she can see the way her pupils dilate as she watches what Root’s doing with rapt attention, see the shallowness of her breaths and the pulse throbbing in her neck, Root knows she won’t be able to hold off for much longer, her hips moving more and more erratically against her hand. She has to bite her tongue so that she doesn’t cry Shaw’s name when she comes, harder than she thinks she ever has before, white hot pleasure coursing through her as she trembles, her eyes slamming shut as she surrenders herself to the sensation and it’s a long time before she opens them again, feeling boneless and exhausted, and she isn’t surprised to find that Shaw’s gone.

She wonders, for a brief second, if she’d imagined the whole thing, but her imagination has never been quite _that_ good, and she wonders what will happen when she sees Shaw again in the morning – if she even _sees_ Shaw in the morning, because she wouldn’t put it past her, after that little performance, to slip out of the door before Root woke so that she could avoid her.

At the thought she tries to force her eyes to stay open, because if she doesn’t sleep then there’s no way that Shaw can sneak past her but her eyelids feel like lead, and she’s spent from both the day she’s had and from that orgasm (and the fact that she’d only managed to snatch a handful of hours of restless sleep ever since she’d been here last – sleeping next to Shaw, she hadn’t been haunted by nightmares, had felt safer than she had for a long time, and that was another reason why she wished she’d been allowed to stay there for just one more night, because she’d woken up more well-rested than she could remember being for _months_ ), and she finds her eyes slipping closed before she can stop them, sleep taking her in its clutches and whisking her away.

She doesn’t dream, and for that she’s grateful, and when her eyes flutter open the next morning she glances at the clock and sees that it’s almost ten am and she curses herself because Shaw would have left for work hours ago and she should have set an alarm or _something_. But she feels refreshed so she supposes it’s not all bad, as she climbs to her feet and stretches, wandering over to Shaw’s bedroom just to check but sure enough it’s empty, the bed made pristinely, not a single thing out of place in the entire room.

She pads into the bathroom and smiles softly when she sees her toothbrush exactly where she’d put it, next to Shaw’s on the sink, and she wonders if it’ll still be there the next time she comes here ( _if_ she ever comes here again – nothing is certain, and she needs to start remembering that). She strips out of Shaw’s clothes and tugs her own back on, leaving Shaw’s in a neat pile on the corner of the bed like she’d done last time before she gathers up her bag from the previous day.

She still has the laptop, and she decides that destroying it should be her first task for the day, and if she’s quick, she muses to herself as she slips out of Shaw’s front door, then she might be able to slip into the department store and annoy Shaw at work. _That’d_ teach her to avoid Root in the future.

She smirks at the thought, a slight spring in her step as she emerges onto the street outside of Shaw’s apartment and heads back into the centre of the city – but her mood comes crashing down when there’s a whisper in her ear, a location where she knows she’ll find her newest cover identity, and she sighs quietly to herself, lifting her head to glare at the nearest street camera before continuing on her way.

She’s not too upset – she’s sure that she and Shaw will see each other again sometime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I've added a couple of tags to this story since I posted the last chapter, and you might want to check those out before reading this one.  
> You may have also noticed that I've changed the number of chapters to 5 and that is because I have zero self-control when it comes to writing these two so will be posting a short epilogue after the final part next Tuesday.  
> Thank you for all the support thus far, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others :)

_Stupid_ goddamn fucking _Root_.

It’s a mantra that Shaw seems to find herself repeating, over and over again in her head, but she’s not sure that it’ll ever be quite _enough_ , because every time she closes her eyes she sees her, lying on Shaw’s couch with her knees spread apart and a hand working frantically beneath her shorts; she hears the sound of Root’s laboured breathing, the wet sound of her fingers moving over slick flesh, the choked-back moan that had been the sound that had woken Shaw in the first place.

She’d thought that Root was having another nightmare, hadn’t even thought about it as she’d slipped out of her bed and hurried into the living room, an urgency to her movements and she hadn't wanted to think about the reasoning behind them, why waking Root and making sure she was okay was such a priority to her (she can tell herself that it’s just because it would interrupt her own sleep if she was too loud, but she’s not sure that she can even believe that herself, anymore), but she wishes it hadn’t been because when she’d come to a stop at the foot of the couch she hadn’t found Root having a nightmare, after all.

No, instead she’d found her touching herself, and from the look in Root’s eyes as they’d met hers, Shaw had absolutely no doubt in her mind that as she did she was thinking about Shaw, wishing that her own hands were Shaw’s, and Root’s eyes had only left hers when she came and Shaw doesn’t think that she’ll ever be able to forget the look on her face when she did.

It’s haunted her ever since.

It’s been two days since she’d snuck past Root, refusing to look at her as she slept on the couch, three days since she’d gotten herself off to the thought of her (part of her wishing that Root would slip through the door and into her bed), found herself wet and wanting all because of that stupid _look_ on Root’s face and she can barely concentrate on anything but her and it’s driving her _insane_.

Everything in her apartment reminds of her Root. She can barely look at her damn couch anymore, every time she looks at her kitchen table she sees the other woman spread across it pale and barely breathing, and she’s convinced that her bed still smells like her, despite the fact that she’s washed the sheets since Root had slept in it. When she’s in her shower she wonders if Root had touched herself in there, too, if she’d imagined Shaw pressing her back against cool tile and kissing her way down her body (and Shaw hates herself for thinking of it because she’d found her own fingers slipping inside herself at the thought, had imagined how Root would taste on her tongue, and _damn_ Root for doing this to her, for making her into a horny mess and the next time she sees her she’s either going to punch her or kiss her, and Shaw’s just hoping that it’s the former because if she kisses Root she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to stop).

It’s why she chooses to spend her Friday night in a bar, instead of at her place. She can’t stand being there, surrounded by Root’s presence, and the idea of getting really, really drunk and maybe letting someone take her home sounds much more appealing. Maybe if she can satisfy the ache that seems to constantly throb between her thighs by burying herself in someone else, then she’ll be able to stop thinking about Root.

She’s only two drinks in before someone catches her eye, a guy with dark hair and onyx eyes who sits at the other end of the bar. He’s as tall, dark and handsome as they come, and she meets his gaze and lets a lazy smile cross her face and he’s at her side within a few moments, and she hides her smirk behind the rim of her beer bottle – men are so predictable when it comes to a pretty woman in a sexy dress. She’d gone all out that night, wearing a skin tight black dress with a plunging neckline that barely even covers her thighs when she’s sat with her legs crossed as she is at the bar, and as she leans closer to talk to him and sees his gaze flicker down to her chest, she knows she’s snared him, knows it’ll take very little for him to invite her home – she just hopes that he’s as good in bed as he is good-looking.

She accepts the drink he buys her with a smile, letting him lean close to whisper in her ear, introducing himself as Simon, and she accepts the hand he holds towards her and tells him to call her Sam. He’s all hard, lean muscle, voice low and rough, and Shaw finds herself thinking of soft curves and light, teasing words and curses herself, curses her mind because she should _not_ be thinking about Root right now but she seems inescapable, somehow, pressing into every aspect of Shaw’s life until she feels like she can barely breathe. 

Shaw swears she feels eyes on her, then, and lifts her gaze over Simon’s shoulder – and freezes when she sees brown eyes staring back at her from across the room.

Root’s expression is neutral, as she leans her shoulder back against the wall behind her, arms folded across her chest, but when Simon’s hand runs across Shaw’s back, noticing her attention has drifted elsewhere, Shaw sees her eyes flash, mouth twisting upwards in the hint of a scowl as she frowns, and Shaw swallows hard and looks away.

She thinks back to the last time they’d been in a bar together, when she’d watched Root flirt with another woman beside her, remembers the seething rage that had churned within her at the sound of their voices, the irritation that had flared through her as she’d heard the woman ask Root if she wanted to leave with her, and she wonders if her face had been as transparent as Root’s is right now, her jealously written across her expression for all the world to see.

Because she had been jealous, though she’d never admit it – especially not to Root. She’d never hear the end of it. But there had been a part of her that had wanted Root all to herself, that loathed the thought of her acting the way she did around Shaw with someone else. And it was selfish and wrong because she could never offer Root what she wanted, what she’d need, in the long run, because that’s not how she’s wired and she’ll never be that way and Root deserves so much more than she’ll ever be able to give. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t still want her, that she doesn’t think about her, that there’s not a part of her that wishes that maybe this could be different. But she’d meant what she’d said to Root as she’d stared down at her on her couch – she would break her, eventually, and she didn’t know if she could bear it, if she could stand it if she hurt Root enough to make her leave.

She doesn’t know when she’d come to think of Root as that, as someone that she might not be able to live without. It’s a stupid concept, she knows – her life wouldn’t end if Root wasn’t in it, she wouldn’t cease to exist, nothing would _happen_ because that’s not how it works, but when she thinks of never seeing Root again she gets a funny feeling in her chest that she doesn’t like to think about, doesn’t want to wonder what it might mean.

It’s easier to sit and flirt with someone that she knows she’ll never see again after tonight. It’s easier because there’s no chance of permanence, no chance of Simon creeping into her life like Root had done, slowly, piece by piece, until it was impossible to imagine it without him. _This_ was easy because it was what she was used to – one night of fun, a way to blow off steam, before going their separate ways.

She knows that will never happen with Root.  

She’s already in too deep, already more affected by her than she has been by anyone else before in her life. And it would be easy, sometimes, to just let herself give in, let her walls down and take what she so desperately wants (maybe what she’s always wanted – she still feels a thrill, despite the humiliation of it at the time, whenever she thinks of that first meeting, or when they’d been alone together for so long in that CIA safehouse, pressed together as they’d sparred, and she wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if they’d kissed instead of fought), but she thinks that Root would be so very easy to drown in, and she’s not sure she’d ever be able to come back up for air.

When Simon leans forwards to kiss her, she lets him. It’s messy and wet and a world away from what she’d wanted and she pulls away quickly, leaning back in her stool and she makes the mistake of glancing towards Root, whose eyes bore into the side of her head, expression furious, like she wants to tear Shaw apart and Shaw really kind of wants to let her.

She takes in the anger in Root’s eyes, lets it wash through her, feeling like she’s being scalded by the heat of it, and she remembers the way those eyes had looked the last time she’d seen Root, filled with want and heat and desire, and she bites her lip and tears her gaze away, letting out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

She feels like she’s suffocating, pressed so closely to Simon and with the weight of Root’s eyes on her and suddenly she just needs to get out of there, mutters that she needs to use the bathroom but instead she slips through a side door that leads to an alley and leans her back against the wall, tilting her head back and trying to even out her breathing, her breath fogging in-front of her in the cold night air.

She hears Root before she sees her, doesn’t turn her head as the door beside her opens and then suddenly Root is in-front of her, eyes still blazing with anger and Shaw lets her step close, lets herself drown in the scent of her perfume, in the heat of her body, and doesn’t say a word.

“Where’s your friend?” Root asks after a few moments of heavy silence, her voice colder than Shaw’s ever heard it, the chill of it seeping into her bones and making her shiver.

“Don’t know,” she shrugs, disinterested, glad that her voice comes out steady when inside she feels anything but. “Don’t care. He was a terrible kisser.” She watches Root’s mouth twist as her hands clench, knows that she’s remembering the sight of Shaw’s lips against his and she thinks that maybe it was cruel, to do that in-front of her when she knows Root wants her all to herself.

But then she remembers that look on Root’s face again, the way she’s been haunting her ever since, and decides she doesn’t care if she’d hurt her, after all.

“Oh, Sameen,” Root breathes, pressing herself closer so that Shaw’s wedged between her body and the wall at her back, but she doesn’t feel trapped, knows that she could easily flip them around and shove Root against the brick instead, if she wanted to (she doesn’t, though – not yet, anyway). “If you wanted a kiss to make your head spin, all you had to do was ask.”

“A little cocky, aren’t you?” She scoffs and Root smirks, eyes bright as they meet Shaw’s though there’s still an edge of darkness to them, her anger still hovering beneath the surface.

“Just stating a fact.” Root’s so close that Shaw feels her breath whisper across the skin of her cheek as she speaks and her heart races in her chest, skin sparking with desire because she’s been thinking about nothing but Root for three solid days and now she’s in-front of her, they’re practically touching, and she’s never wanted anything as much in her life as she wants Root in that moment, as their eyes lock and Root runs her tongue along her bottom lip.

“Yeah? Are you gonna prove it or are you just all talk?” She watches Root’s lips curve into a smirk of victory because Shaw knows she’d practically just asked Root to kiss her but she can’t even be disgusted with herself because of how much she wants it. And she knows that she shouldn’t have spoken at all, that this is a colossal mistake that absolutely should not be happening, but as Root ducks her head to press their lips together she finds that all of the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this flee from her mind, chased away by the heat of Root’s mouth against her own.

Root’s kiss isn’t gentle – it’s hot and hard, her lips unforgiving as they move against Shaw’s, hands splaying across her hips and shoving her bodily back into the wall, and she feels the skin exposed by her dress scrape against the brick and hisses. Root takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Shaw’s mouth, kissing Shaw like she wants to devour her, and Shaw wants to let her as she tangles her hands in Root’s hair and tugs.

She’s rewarded with a light nip to her bottom lip as Root’s teeth close around the skin and pull, dragging it between them before releasing it and Shaw’s eyes flutter open to meet Root’s as she struggles to catch her breath, her heart thumping erratically in her chest.

“Good enough for you?” Root asks breezily as she raises an eyebrow, cocky smirk on her lips. Shaw wants to deny it, wants to scoff that she’s had much better but it would be a lie – she feels a little dazed, as she gazes up at Root, a little undone by the things she’d done with her tongue, and heat pools between her thighs, desire coursing through her veins and instead of answering Root she fists her hand tighter in her hair and presses their lips together once more.

She feels Root grin against her mouth and bites down on her bottom lip, hard, in response – she hears a low hiss of pain and tastes copper on her tongue and it only makes her kiss Root harder, her free hand curling around the thin material of the other woman’s shirt to pull her impossibly closer.

Root drags a low moan from between her teeth when one of her hands drops to Shaw’s thigh, nails raking across her skin so hard she feels the muscles beneath tremble, and her breath catches when Root’s hand trails higher, disappearing beneath the hem of her dress before splaying across her hip, toying with the waistband of her underwear.

“What happened,” Root asks as her mouth moves away from Shaw’s, lips grazing the side of her jaw before she presses an open-mouthed kiss against her neck. Shaw’s head tilts, offering Root the column of her throat, and her next words are murmured against Shaw’s skin. “To this never happening?”

“I changed my mind.” She nearly stutters over the words, as Root’s teeth nip at her pulse point, throbbing in her neck, dragging her tongue over the same spot when she’s done, and she bites down on her bottom lip hard to silence the groan that threatens to spill from her throat.

“Mm, couldn’t stay away, more like,” Root teases, breath hot against her neck, before shifting to run her tongue along Shaw’s collarbone, but at the smug tone of Root’s voice Shaw tightens her hand in her hair and yanks her away, glaring. “Oh, come on, Sameen,” she starts, a hint of a pout on her mouth. “I was only joking.”

Shaw knows, as she looks at Root and takes in her dark eyes and bruised lips, the flush on her cheeks, her hair mussed from Shaw’s fingers, that this is when they should stop. This is when she should push Root away from her, turn her back and leave, because she’s already pushed this further than she’d ever wanted to go, knows that she’ll never forget the feeling of Root’s mouth moving against her own – she doesn’t need to know what her fingers feel like, pressing inside of her and curling, but she’s forgotten how to move, frozen in place both by the look on Root’s face as she stares at her and by the searing heat of her hand, still pressed against her hip.

“I meant what I said the other night,” she says instead, wondering if Root has already forgotten. “I’ll break you.”

Root just smiles softly as she leans her head back down, lips pressing against Shaw’s neck once again as her fingers drag Shaw’s underwear away from her skin and down her legs, and she breathes in a voice filled with a certainty that tells Shaw she’s thought about it a lot since, “I don’t care.”

Root’s hand hovers between her legs, unmoving, and Shaw knows she won’t until she gives permission, knows that she could still push Root away but her resolve to do so weakens as Root’s tongue drags down her neck, swirling in the hollow at the base of her throat, and she decides _fuck it_ , she can indulge herself just this once and can hope that she’s strong enough to never let it happen again.

So she tightens her hand in Root’s hair, drags her head from her neck so that she can press their lips together in another heated kiss, and she lifts one of her legs to wrap around Root’s hips, breathing out a quiet groan into Root’s mouth when she feels two fingers glide through her sex before sliding inside her without preamble, pressing deep and _hard_ and Shaw thinks, as she forces her tongue into Root’s mouth and licks at the back of her teeth, that the consequences can be dammed because the feeling of this, of Root’s fingers curling within her, is so, so worth it.

When Root’s free hand curls around the thigh of the leg that’s bearing her weight she lets her lift it, wrapping both legs around Root’s waist and crossing her feet at the small of her back, pressed tightly between Root’s body and the wall at her back.

The change in position makes her taller than Root, and she lets her head fall back against the wall as the hacker’s mouth travels down her neck once again before dragging along the length of her sternum and she tugs Shaw’s dress aside so that she can get her mouth on her breasts, teeth and tongue finding one nipple while she rolls the other between her fingers and Shaw’s jaw clenches to quiet her moans as she buries both hands in Root’s hair.

Her hips grind desperately against Root’s hand, feeling like she’s burning up from the inside with the need that ripples throughout her entire body, each thrust of Root’s fingers sending white hot pleasure racing through her veins as the palm of her hand grinds against her clit, her teeth tugging at her nipple hard enough to sting and she just needs a little _more_ and then she’ll be there – but Root stops abruptly, lifting her head as her hand stills within Shaw and when Shaw manages to force her eyes open she sees the other woman glancing over her shoulder with a frown on her face before she lets out a quiet sigh.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she says then, voice filled with remorse and when she slides her hand from Shaw’s underwear to instead rest on her thigh, fingers damp on her skin, Shaw glares, mouth opening to ask her what the _hell_ she thinks she’s doing. “But we’re about to have company.”

“I don’t care,” Shaw says stubbornly, as Root straightens the neckline of Shaw’s dress so that her breasts are covered, because she’s never been a prude or shy and she hadn't taken Root to be either of those things, either.

“Well,” Root says as she reaches both her hands behind her to tug at Shaw’s calves, trying to get her to release her hold on her waist. “I do.” Shaw flexes the muscles in her thighs, holding onto Root tighter, and Root chuckles before she manages to pry Shaw’s legs away from her with a strength Shaw is sure she shouldn’t possess. “And besides, I have somewhere to be.”

Shaw looks at her with outrage on her face as Root deposits her back on the floor and tugs her dress back down over her thighs before stepping a respectable distance away from her – they still get a curious look from the three people that emerge from the side door a few seconds later but Shaw barely spares them a glance, is too busy staring at Root as she runs a hand through her hair before she turns as if she’s going to walk away.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Shaw seethes, burning with anger (and something else, too – she’d been so _close_ , an ache pulsing between her thighs), her hands curling into fists so tightly that she shakes, and Root glances at her with a wicked smile on her face like she knows exactly what she’s doing and Shaw wonders if she’d planned this, all of this, and if Root was close enough she’d probably hit her, but she’s already moving away from Shaw and towards the mouth of the alleyway.

“Duty calls,” she says in a sing-song voice as she taps her injured ear with her index finger (the one that had been pressing deep inside of Shaw just a handful of moments earlier, and she clenches her jaw as she realizes, swears that Root’s doing this on purpose). “And you have somewhere to be, too.”

She disappears from view, then, and Shaw can only stare after her, dumbfounded. And furious – she never expected Root to be able to walk away from her, not like _this_ , and it makes her burn with anger and something else, something that presses uncomfortably on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Her phone rings, then, and she yanks it out of her bag to see Romeo’s name emblazoned across the screen and sighs, guessing that from Root’s words, he wants his getaway driver for the night. She considers, for one long moment, ignoring the call and slipping back inside the bar, seeing if Simon is still in there or finding someone else, letting them drag her home and into bed, desperate to fuck away the burning need that pools low in her stomach, but she knows that it will pale in comparison to the feeling of Root, so fresh in her memory, and Shaw is pretty sure that in that moment, she hates her.

“Yeah?” She mutters sullenly when she answers the phone after taking in a deep lungful of the cool night air in attempt to calm her racing heartbeat.

_“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”_ Romeo asks with a chuckle when he hears the irritation clear in her voice. _“I’m not interrupting something, am I?”_

“Unfortunately not,” she grumbles, glancing towards the mouth of the alley, part of her hoping that Root will be hovering just around the corner – she’s quick to quash the feeling, though, because after what she’d just pulled Shaw isn’t letting Root within a foot of her anytime soon.

Not without hurting her, anyway.

_“Good, because I have a job for you.”_ She only half-listens as he talks, wandering back out onto the street to head back to her place for a change of clothes, and she agrees to meet him at their usual place in half an hour and hangs up as she’s sliding her key into her lock and slipping through her front door.

She strips off her dress and jumps in the shower as quickly as she can, desperate to wash the lingering scent of Root’s perfume (of _Root_ ), from her skin. As she stands beneath the spray she finds one hand sliding to the apex of her thighs, fingers finding her clit in an attempt to alleviate the distracting ache that Root had left her with and it doesn’t take her long to come, trying not to think about Root when she does.

She’s still distracted though, as she hastily dries herself with a towel and tugs on black sweats and a t-shirt, Root still on her mind, and she doesn’t know when she turned into this, into a person who was so affected by another that she can barely even think straight and she hates it, hates herself and hates Root for doing this to her in the first place.

She brews herself some coffee while she has a few minutes spare, aware of the drinks she’d consumed earlier, wary despite knowing that she has a high threshold when it comes to alcohol, and even though the combination of Root and the cold night air had sobered her up a little she still thinks that she can never be too careful, and she pours the coffee into a thermos when she’s done and sips at it as she heads back out onto the street.

Romeo and his little crew meet at a warehouse downtown, which is where they keep the van and most of their supplies, and when Shaw arrives most of the others are already there, a map spread across the table within as they finalise their plans that Shaw doesn’t care to listen to – her only job is to drive the van, and with how tonight she can barely even concentrate, for the first time she thinks that that’s a good thing.

A bank on the west side of the city is Romeo’s target for the night, and Shaw slips behind the wheel at his signal, letting him direct her through dark and quiet streets until she’s pulling up at the corner a few doors down from the bank, out of sight of the nearest street camera.

The boys have three minutes to get in and out, and Shaw gets her timer ready as they pull on their masks and pile out onto the street, pressing start the second the doors are open and the alarm blazes. They make quite a team, she has to begrudgingly admit, cautious and careful in a way she admires, even though she herself can sometimes rush into things. But she trusts in her own ability to get herself out of any mess she can get herself in to, and she’s not so sure that Romeo and the others have quite the same skill set as she does.

She taps her fingers on the steering wheel as she waits, each second ticking by agonizingly slowly. She itches to do _something_ – really, she just wants to _shoot_ something but even though her gun is tucked into the waistband of her pants, hidden beneath her sweatshirt, she knows that tonight there’s very little chance that she’ll be using it.

Which sucks, because ever since the other night in that hotel room she’s been desperate to do something, anything other than go to work at the stupid make-up counter and listen to yet another housewife ramble on about why they needed _the_ perfect shade for the party they were going to that weekend, anything other than go home and find herself in her empty apartment that reminds her so much of the one person she longs to escape, and she never thought she’d ever say it but she misses the library, she misses Reese and Finch and god, she misses the dog most of all, would give anything to see any one of them again, to have her old life back because anything would be better than the one she’s living right now.

She hears police sirens wailing in the distance and her head snaps up, glancing at her timer to see that they should still have almost a minute before the cops are even close, and she calls Romeo and orders him to get the hell out of there and breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him and the others sprinting through the open doors of the bank just a few seconds later.

But blue lights flash across the faces of the buildings on the street just as they’re reaching the van, and they’re barely inside before Shaw is slamming her foot down on the accelerator and peeling away from the curb, glancing in the mirror and seeing a police car in hot pursuit and she’s sure the smile that crosses her face is more than a little manic, but she’d been wanting a thrill and here it is, handed to her on a silver platter as she swings them around a street corner and presses her foot almost flat on the floor as she urges the van faster.

She’s never been in a police chase before. She’s been in car chases, but usually she’s the one following and it’s a nice change, being on the other side – definitely more interesting than applying lipstick all day. It’s a fun challenge, trying to evade them, but also a little too easy, and she’s almost disappointed when the sound of sirens dies away.

They pull over under an abandoned bridge and switch the plates on the van before heading back to the warehouse, and Shaw gets a slap on the back from each of the boys for getting them out of the mess and Romeo gives her a larger share of the cash than she would have gotten usually and she doesn’t complain as she slips it into the pocket of her sweatshirt before heading back out onto the street, knowing that she’ll be hearing from the boys again sooner rather than later.

She has quite the collection of money, now, stacks of bills tucked away around her apartment, not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be saving for – it’s not like she has a lot of expenses, these days, and the few she does have are just about covered by what she makes at work. She supposes she could indulge herself and buy a new gun.

It’s late, by the time she makes it back home and she crawls into bed as soon as she’s there, despite thinking that there’s probably very little chance of her actually falling asleep. She’s too full of adrenaline from the chase, still too awake from the memory of the heat of Root’s mouth against hers, and she sighs as she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling, wondering if this feeling will ever go away.

She’s almost drifted off by the time she hears a small click come from her living room and her eyes fly open, hand immediately snaking under her pillow to seize the knife that she keeps under there and she springs from the bed and onto her feet lightly, barely making a sound.

She sleeps with her bedroom door open, precisely for occasions like these, so that any noise will wake her and she can be prepared for whatever she’s about to face and she slips through into the living room silently, knife clutched tightly in her right hand as she allows her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and take in the sight of the room before her.

She sees movement and moves almost without thought, reaching out her left hand and catching the person’s wrist, tugging them backwards and pressing them roughly against the wall, pinning them in place with the solid weight of her body and pressing the knife to their throat.

“Well, this is kinky.” Shaw didn’t know what she’d expected, but hearing Root’s voice wasn’t it, and she squints up at her face as she releases her wrist to fumble for the lightswitch that she knows is around here somewhere, flicking it on when she finds it and blinking as the room is suddenly filled with a bright light.

Sure enough, it’s Root who she’s pressed against, and really, she should have recognised her by the smell of her perfume, or the shape of her body, before now, and there’s a lazy smile on the other woman’s mouth despite the knife at her throat that Shaw has yet to remove.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She hisses, her earlier anger towards Root rushing to the surface as she remembers her walking away, leaving her a hot mess and the hand holding the knife trembles, the tip of the blade pressing harder into Root’s pale skin.

“I was so rude to you earlier,” she drawls with a gleam in her eyes, and she licks her lips as her gaze drops to Shaw’s lips, “that I thought I’d come and make it up to you.”

“And what if I don’t want you to?”

“Oh, Sameen,” Root practically purrs, a wicked smirk on her face, “with the way you were so _desperate_ for me - ” Root cuts off with a gasp as Shaw’s body ripples with anger at her words, the knife biting into her skin so hard that she nicks the skin, and Shaw watches, transfixed, as a bead of blood wells at the cut before sliding down the column of Root’s neck, and Shaw has to bite her lip, hard, so that she doesn’t lean forward and let her tongue lick it away. “I see you’re still angry with me.” There’s a slightly breathless edge to Root’s voice, and when Shaw tears her gaze away from her neck and meets her eyes she sees that her pupils are so wide that they look black, and she recalls Root’s words, on that very first day (‘I enjoy this sort of thing, too’), and she wonders just how much fun they could have together – Shaw’s always liked it a little (a _lot_ ) rough, but most of the partners she’s had over the years had been too squeamish to give her what she’d truly wanted ( _needed_ ).

Somehow she feels that Root will be up to the challenge.

“If you expected me to take kindly to you breaking into my apartment when the last time you did it you tased me, then you underestimate me, Root.” She’s glad that her own voice is cold, that she can pretend to be unaffected by the fact that they’re pressed so tightly together and that she wants nothing more than to slice away Root’s clothes with the knife in her hand and not let her move until she was begging for Shaw’s touch.

“But we had so much fun together that day,” Root pouts, and Shaw rolls her eyes, choosing not to answer her. “And I don’t underestimate you, sweetie. I knew you’d be pissed at me, which is why I brought a peace offering.”

Shaw looks at her warily, and Root’s eyes flicker down to the knife and she sighs before releasing her and taking a step back, but she still keeps her hand curled tightly around the handle. She watches as Root bends to pick up a bag at her feet that Shaw hadn’t noticed until now, that Root must’ve dropped when Shaw had grabbed her. When she recognises the logo on the side Shaw is quick to reach out and snatch the bag away, glancing inside with interest as Root watches her in amusement.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Shaw warns as she spins away from Root and into the kitchen to grab a fork, and she supposes that it’s not so bad, having Root here, if she’s going to keep bringing her favourite food along with her. She’d remembered her order perfectly, too, and Shaw tries not to read too much into that as she settles on the couch and opens one of the containers, shovelling food into her mouth, not realizing how hungry she’d been.

“Make sure you eat it all,” Root comments as she strides over to perch on the arm of the couch, watching her eat with the same fascination that she always does. “You’ll need the energy for what I have planned for the rest of the evening.”

“The only plans _I_ have for the evening involve sleeping,” Shaw replies coldly, glaring, and when Root opens her mouth to cut in she adds, with a hiss, “ _alone_.”

“We’ll see.” She hates the smug smile that spreads slowly across Root’s face, as though she thinks that Shaw won’t be able to resist her, and she glowers down at her noodles and stabs at her next forkful forcefully. “How did your robbery go?”

“Fine,” she replies, tone short, and Root looks at her expectantly for a long moment before sighing dramatically.

“Are you not going to ask me where I ran off to?”

“I don’t really care.” Shaw throws Root a sweet smile, tinged with malice, as she brushes past her and into the kitchen to discard the now-empty food cartons, and when she turns she’s not surprised in the slightest to see Root standing in the doorway, blocking her exit.

“Come on, Sameen.” That pout is back on her mouth again as she stretches both her hands out to curl around the doorframe, and to keep herself calm Shaw lets her wonder what the _most_ painful way for her to get Root to move out of her way would be. “I’m sorry about before. You know I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t have to. I was really, _really_ enjoying myself.” Root’s eyes run down Shaw’s body appreciatively and she curses herself for her choice of sleeping attire, short shorts and a tight tank top, leaving very little to the imagination. “And I’d _very_ much like to pick where we left off.”

“Yeah?” Shaw’s jaw clenches, as she rankles at the _assumption_ of Root’s, that she’d just _throw_ herself at Root like she couldn’t stay away (never mind the fact that that’s probably true – she’s not sure how much self-control she’ll have if Root reaches out to touch her, if she kissed her, and she decides not to let either of those things happen so she doesn’t have to find out), and she lets that fury sink into her bones, draws strength from it that allows her to take a step closer to Root and shove one of her outstretched arms away roughly. “Too bad I don’t.”

“Really?” Root’s hand darts out to catch ahold of her wrist and Shaw is so surprised that Root had dared to touch her that she’s slow to react, doesn’t until Root has got her back pressed against the wall, and Shaw remembers all too easily the last time they’d been like this, her legs wrapped around Root’s waist as two fingers curled deep inside of her and she shudders at the memory, desire pulsing through her and she curses her body for betraying her because god, she shouldn’t still want this, what happened before was a mistake, a mistake that she should absolutely _not_ want to repeat. “Cause I think maybe you do.” Root’s voice is low and breathy as she dips her head to press her mouth to Shaw’s ear. “I think you’ve wanted this for a long time, you just never wanted to admit it.”

It’s the sound of Root’s voice that snaps her out of the haze of desire that being pressed to tightly together had managed to put Shaw into and she growls, surging away from the wall and spinning them around, slamming Root back against it so hard that she gasps, and instead of a knife, this time Shaw presses her hand against Root’s throat, wrapping her fingers around her neck and squeezing.

“You should really stop pissing off people who are strong enough to kill you with their bare hands,” Shaw hisses in a dangerous voice, but Root only smirks and tilts her head back against the wall, her eyes meeting Shaw’s and they’re black as onyx, and she watches Root’s lips part slightly, in a whisper of a moan, as she presses her fingers harder into her skin, and she knows that Root’s getting off on this just the same as she would if Shaw was fucking her, instead.

(Shaw doesn’t dare think about the fact that she’s kind of getting off on this, too, can feel arousal burning across her skin and pooling between her thighs and Christ, she’s a ruin and it’s all because of stupid _Root_ ).

She releases her hold on Root only when she sees her eyes start to slip closed, opening her fingers and letting her breathe, and she takes in deep, shuddering breaths as Shaw stares at her neck, at the red lines her fingers have left across her skin, and she wonders if there will be bruises there in the morning.

“You should leave,” she says softly, even though her hand is still wrapped loosely around Root’s throat and she has very little desire to yank it away, because she thinks that maybe it’s not too late to stop this, maybe if she shoves Root out of the door and slams it behind her she can slam the door shut on her memories of the other woman, too, that maybe she won’t lie, staring up at her ceiling thinking of her, and maybe they can both still escape from their encounter in the alleyway unscathed.

(Shaw thinks that she’s already been scathed by Root – scalded by her kisses and her mouth and her touch, the imprints lingering like a bruise).

“What if I don’t want to?” Root’s voice is rough, husky in a way Shaw has never heard it before and she looks at Shaw with such open desire that it makes her mouth dry. “Are you going to make me?” Shaw thinks that Root’s trying to provoke her, wants her to tighten her hand and choke the air from her lungs so instead she drops it to her side, curling it into a fist and letting the sharp sting of her nails biting into her palm distract her from the wanton look on Root’s face.

“Maybe I will,” she replies, voice flat, “and trust me when I say you won’t enjoy it.”

“If it involves your hands on me then I’m sorry to disappoint, Sameen, but I’ll enjoy it much more than you can even imagine.”

“Well, if _you_ won’t leave, maybe I will.” She takes a step back from Root and purses her lips as if she’s in deep thought, wondering what will happen if she turns the tables and provokes Root, instead. “Maybe I’ll go back to that bar, see if Simon’s still there…” She trails off, letting Root’s mind fill in the blank, watches her eyes flash with something dark and dangerous, something that Shaw has rarely seen in her eyes before, barring that very first day, as Root had threatened her with extreme violence, and it sends a thrill through her.

“And why were you flirting with him in the first place, Shaw?” She notes the use of her last name, knows that she’s gotten under Root’s skin. “Been feeling a little hot under the collar, lately?” The smirk on her face is wicked and Shaw watches her eyes flicker deliberately to the couch over Shaw’s shoulder and she hates the fact that her mind flashes back to that night, to the image of Root’s hand moving beneath her shorts, the gasps of breath and that damn look in her eyes, and Root’s smirk widens like she knows _exactly_ what Shaw’s thinking. “He can’t give you what I can.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“Everything,” Root answers simply. “And anything. Whatever you want, whatever you _need_.” Shaw hates the fact that that’s probably true, that there are few people out there who are like her, who revel in pain rather than avoid it, but Root is one and the same and she’s never been more despairing of that fact than she is right then, as Root looks at her with a smug little smile like she can read Shaw’s mind. “All you have to do is take it.”

“I don’t want to.” It sounds like a lie, and both of them know it’s a lie, and she knows that the desperate way with which she’d clutched at Root earlier will haunt her for a long time because she’d given too much away, she’d shown her hand and Root knows that she wants this, too, and every time Root steps close and brushes her fingers across her skin she feels her resolve breaks just a little tiny bit more and she wonders, as they stare at each other in her living room with just a few metres separating them, how long it will be before it shatters completely.

“No?” Root’s eyes gleam as she bites her lip and Shaw braces herself for whatever’s about to come out of her mouth next. “So you don’t want to drag me into your bed or shove me back against this wall and make me pay for leaving you high and dry – well,” she pauses, wicked smirk on her face, “I suppose _dry_ isn’t really the right word, but you understand the gist - ” Shaw growls, a warning, but Root carries on, ignoring her. “Before? You don’t want to wrap your hand around my neck or plastic around my wrists or drag your little knife across my skin until I bleed?” Shaw feels her pulse quicken, sure it’s jumping in her neck as her breathing becomes shallow, mind overrun with the vivid image of her doing all of those things. “But if you really don’t want any of those things,” Root carries on in a sad little voice, “then I guess I will just go.”

Shaw knows exactly what Root is doing.

She knows that she’s planned this all out, calculated exactly what she needs to say and in what order to get what she wants, knows that she’s being played and that if she gives in to this then it will be the start of something, no matter how much she might try to deny it.

She knows all of that and yet, when Root lets out a dramatic little sigh before pushing herself off of the wall and moving towards the front door, she still reaches out a hand to stop her, curling her fingers around her forearm hard enough to bruise and tugging her roughly forwards so that they collide, and she wipes the victorious little smirk that curves across Root’s lips with a heated kiss, her tongue pressing into Root’s mouth and licking against the back of her teeth as she starts to walk them backwards.

They crash into the kitchen table on their way to Shaw’s bedroom and Root is quick to press Shaw back against it and Shaw is content to let her, lifting herself onto the edge and wrapping her legs around Root’s thighs. Her mind flashes back to the alleyway and heat rushing through her and she’s desperate to feel Root’s hands against her once again but she doesn’t dare ask for it, has shown far too much weakness tonight already, but it’s not long before Root’s hands are sliding under both her shorts and the underwear beneath, and she lets out a hiss of appreciation as two fingers draw a lazy circle around her clit, her hips arching, pressing harder into Root’s hand.

“I think it’s only fair,” Root murmurs into her ear, voice low, and she breathes out the tiniest little moan when her fingers press inside of her and Shaw thinks it may be the hottest sound she’s ever heard, “that I finish what I started before, don’t you?”

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she hisses in reply, even as she’s tilting her head to allow Root to trail her teeth and tongue down her throat, even as her hands are clawing at her back to drag her closer, and she feels Root to chuckle darkly against her skin in response.

“Whatever you say, Sameen,” Root murmurs against the corner of Shaw’s jaw, her voice condescending, and Shaw’s mouth opens to hiss something vicious in response, but she has to snap it shut to stifle a groan when Root adds a third finger and swipes a thumb against her clit and Shaw swears that she sees stars behind her eyelids when they fall closed and she doesn’t think that she’s ever felt quite so _alive_.

The press of Root’s fingers is relentless and it isn’t long before Shaw feels the muscles in her stomach tightening as her hips rise to meet every thrust of Root’s hand, and she tangles one of her own in Root’s hair and drags her mouth from the side of her neck to press against her own instead, letting the kiss swallow the sound of her moan when she comes, thighs trapping Root firmly between them as she trembles against her, white hot pleasure sparking throughout her entire body and Root draws out her orgasm for as long as she possibly can, fingers slowing but never quite stopping.

She lets her legs drop from Root’s waist as their lips part and she stops clenching around Root’s fingers, and when her eyes open she sees the hacker looking at her with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips that Shaw wants to claw away from her mouth.

She settles for kissing her, instead, sinking her teeth into Root’s bottom lip until it splits, blood flooding her mouth and they both moan. Root’s fingers flutter within her but Shaw reaches between them to pry her hand away, because she wants to bring Root to her knees, wants to turn Root into a trembling mess, wants press her down and tease her until she can’t take it anymore before she lets Root touch her again.

Her hands curl around Root’s shoulders and push her backwards – she stumbles away and almost crashes into the wall behind her, her legs shaky and a thin line of blood welling at her lip that her tongue snakes out to lick away and Shaw stares, thinking how beautiful Root would look, criss-crossed with cuts and scratches and bruises, her skin as Shaw’s canvas and she bites her own lip at the thought, pushes herself languidly from the table before approaching Root.

She watches Shaw with wary eyes as she moves closer, and Shaw wonders if she’s thinking about what might happen next, if she’s worried Shaw will kick her out now that she’s gotten what she wanted. She thinks that the look on Root’s face, as she slammed the door in her face, would be extremely satisfying, and adequate payback for her little stunt in the alleyway, but… she doesn’t really want to do that, wants to run her hands and her mouth and her tongue over every inch of Root’s body and maybe she’ll finally, finally be able to make her shut up, for once in her life.

When she reaches the other woman she reaches up to curl her hands around the lapels of her leather jacket and tugs it from her shoulders until it drops onto the floor, and Root bites her lip and Shaw knows that she’s trying to hold herself back from saying some kind of suggestive comment like she thinks opening her mouth might make Shaw realise what she’s doing and turn and skitter away, and Shaw is content to let Root think that, instead of knowing that this is something that she wants with every fibre of her being.

She fists a hand in the shirt of Root’s shirt, then, and tugs her towards her bedroom, turning them and pushing Root back on the bed once they’re inside, and she looks up at Shaw with wide eyes, like, despite her cocky words before, she can scarcely believe that this is happening.

(To be honest, neither is Shaw – she’d never expected her self-control to falter when it came to Root but here she is, a pleasant ache between her thighs left from the feeling of having three of Root’s fingers buried within her, drunk on the taste of Root’s mouth and her blood staining her lips).

She steps close to Root and smirks when she hears her breath catch, hands dropping to the hem of her shirt and tugging it over her head before twisting a hand in her hair and kissing her once again, hard and bruising, their teeth clashing as Root moans into her mouth, hands curling around Shaw’s thighs, nails biting into her skin.

Root’s jeans are next, Shaw’s hands popping the button before she’s dragging them down long, toned legs. She drops to her knees as Root’s legs slip free from the denim, hands wrapping her ass and yanking her to the very edge of the bed so that she can press her mouth against Root’s sex, through the strip of black lace that covers her, moving so unexpectedly that Root’s breath leaves her lungs as a strangled moan, her hips bucking into Shaw’s mouth and her hands curling around the bedsheets on either side of her. Shaw teases her for a few moments, teeth grazing across Root’s clit in a way that makes her tremble, a breathless gasp leaving her lips, before she pulls away.

“Tease,” Root breathes as she glances down at Shaw, still crouched between her thighs, and she smirks before pushing herself to her feet.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” she murmurs, a promise and a warning, all in one, and she pushes at Root’s shoulder until she’s lying back in the middle of the bed, stretching her arms lazy above her head and Shaw allows her gaze to dance along Root’s body, taking in the sight of her in a way she hasn’t really allowed herself to before.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Root protests when Shaw moves to straddle her thighs and Shaw deliberates for a minute before deciding that feeling skin against skin is definitely better, and she moves to slip off her tank and her shorts, leaving her in nothing but her black boyshorts as she settles herself over Root’s body once more. “Much better,” Root purrs, hands reaching up towards Shaw’s bare breasts but Shaw is quick to grab her wrists and press them to the pillows above Root’s head with a shake of her head.

“It’s my turn,” she breathes as she leans forward, dragging her tongue along Root’s bottom lip before kissing her, silencing the sound of her protests, and she distracts Root with her teeth and tongue whilst she stretches her free hand beneath her pillows, smirking when she feels cool plastic beneath her fingertips.

Her mouth drags across Root’s jaw and down the side of neck as she shifts, teeth nipping at her pulse point as she slips the zip tie over Root’s wrists and tightens it, and she glances up to admire her handiwork when Root lets out a noise of surprise, shifting her hands in the restraints before she huffs out a breathless laugh.

“Only _you_ would keep zip ties under your pillow,” she explains when she notices Shaw looking at her curiously, and Shaw shrugs.

“You never know when you might need them,” she defends, watching as Root rolls her shoulders, making herself comfortable before settling her hands back down above her head, and Shaw reaches a single finger beneath the plastic to check she hasn’t drawn them too tight. Satisfied that they’re fine she leans back, sitting on her haunches and admiring the sight of Root spread out beneath her.

“Where they there when I slept here?” Root asks with interest, gazing back at Shaw with heat in her eyes, tongue running over her lips and Shaw wonders if she was wishing it could run over Shaw’s skin, instead.

“Mhm,” Shaw replies as she leans back down, splaying one hand beside Root’s head and letting her other reach back under the pillow, hand closing around the handle of her second knife. “And so was this.” She watches Root’s breath catch as she sees what Shaw’s holding, and she runs the tip of the blade down the side of Root’s neck, hard enough for her to feel the pressure of it but not enough for her to break the skin. She drags it down further, across her sternum, and Shaw is pretty sure that Root’s stopped breathing and she glances up to check that she’s okay and swallows thickly when she sees the look on her face, excitement mixed with desire. “I hope you’re not too attached to this,” she murmurs then, tapping the blade against the front of her bra, and before Root can answer her Shaw’s wrist flicks, slicing through it, and she snips the straps, too, so that she can pull the scraps of lace away from her skin.

“Shaw!” Root recovers her voice, then, outrage written across her face. “What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she shrugs, disinterested, and she runs the blade across the swell of one of Root’s breasts, pressing the cool steel against a nipple and watching Root gasp, back arching just a little and Shaw is quick to move the knife away before it cuts her, returning it to her sternum, instead.

“Yeah? You gonna let me borrow your clothes again?” There’s a breathless note to Root’s voice, wrists already straining against the zip ties and Shaw smirks at the way Root shudders when she presses the knife a little deeper, still not quite hard enough to cut the skin.

“Not a chance.” She’s surprised, when Root arches her back, pressing up against Shaw’s hand so that her skin splits, and when Shaw lifts the knife away blood beads in its wake, a thin line of red marring pale skin. Shaw bites her lip, ducking her head to run her tongue along the length of the cut, groaning when she tastes copper on her tongue.

“Even if I ask nicely?” Root’s chest heaves with the force of her breaths and Shaw sighs at her words, letting the knife bite into her skin once again, just to shut her up, and Root moans and arches against the blade, pressing it deeper as she throws her head back, ecstasy written across her face and Shaw’s mouth goes dry, transfixed by the sight of her.

She litters Root’s skin with a few more shallow cuts, against her sternum, around her breasts and over her ribs, tongue tracing the line of each of them, before she sets the knife aside, tongue moving to tease at a hardened nipple. Her teeth close around the sensitive flesh and, encouraged by Root’s quiet moan she bites harder, increasing the pressure until Root gasps and she soothes the sting with her tongue before pressing a path of heated kisses across to her other breast and giving it the same treatment.

Legs wrap around her waist as Root arches into her mouth, and she feels wet heat pressing against her stomach and groans against Root’s skin, hands itching to slide down the hacker’s stomach and slip beneath her skimpy underwear to feel the slick flesh beneath but she forces herself to wait, wants to hear Root beg for her touch more than anything else in the world.

“Shaw,” Root breathes as Shaw’s tongue is swirling down Root’s ribcage, pressing biting kisses to her skin every so often. “Sameen.” Shaw glances up at that, takes in the wanton look on Root’s face, the flush staining her cheeks as her chest heaves to catch her breath, her lips swollen from the force of her teeth biting down on them, and above her head her wrists are raw. “ _Please_.”

“Please what?” Shaw asks before suckling at a patch of skin covering Root’s ribs, hard enough for the skin to have reddened by the time she pulls away and Root’s head is throw back against the pillows, pulse beating frantically in her neck as her back arches, hips trying to grind against Shaw’s stomach and Shaw kind of likes her like this, desperate and wanting, thinks it’s something that she wouldn’t mind seeing over and over again.

“S-stop teasing.” She stutters, a little, as Shaw’s teeth graze across the jut of her hip bone before she lets her tongue trail around the outline of Root’s underwear, and she can smell Root’s arousal and thinks she could drown in it. “Please.”

“I didn’t think you’d cave so easily.” Shaw runs her tongue along the crease of Root’s thigh, smirking against her skin when she shudders, hips bucking against her mouth. She presses a hard kiss to the skin of Root’s thigh, teeth biting hard enough to leave a mark, and when she pulls back she admires her handiwork happily.

“You think this is easily?” There’s a strain to Root’s voice that Shaw revels in as she curls her hands around the edge of Root’s underwear and begins to tug them down her legs, and she bites her lip at the sight of Root’s exposed skin.

“Mm, I think you could’ve held on for a little longer.” She runs her lips back up the length of Root’s legs, hears her breath hitch as her mouth reaches her centre but she doesn’t touch her, instead just lets her breath ghost across slick skin as her hands slide beneath Root’s ass, nails digging into supple flesh.

“Sameen,” Root whines, a desperate edge to her voice and yeah, Shaw definitely wouldn’t mind hearing that more often. Root shifts to throw a leg over Shaw’s shoulder, her heel pressing into the small of Shaw’s back, trying to force her closer and Shaw smirks before giving in, ducking her head and pressing her mouth against Root’s sex, tongue running the length of her before flicking against her clit and Root’s reaction is visceral, using the leverage of her foot against Shaw’s back to grind against Shaw’s face, her hips lifting from the bed completely as a strangled moan leaves her lips and god, she’s so, so wet, Shaw’s chin soaked within seconds and she moans, enjoying this far more than she ever thought she would.

Root’s hips are restless against her mouth and she moves her hands from her ass to instead flatten across her stomach, trying to hold her still as she flattens her tongue and slides it as deep inside Root as she can before moving back to her clit, wrapping her lips around the hardened bud and sucking, causing Root to cry out above her. She glances up to see her back arching, eyes squeezed tightly shut, biting down so hard on her bottom lip that the skin is white and she sucks harder, letting her teeth graze lightly against her clit and Root’s hips quake against her mouth and she can feel the thigh that’s pressing against her cheek beginning to tremble and wonders if Root’s already close, smirks against her at the thought, at how easy it is for Shaw to make her come undone.

She wants to feel her, though, so she moves one hand from Root’s stomach to instead slip two fingers inside her, pressing hard and deep, wrenching a loud moan from Root’s mouth as her tongue flicks rapidly across her clit. It’s only moment later that Root is clenching around her fingers, drawing her in deeper as she cries out Shaw’s name, muffled as she presses her mouth against her arm, thighs shaking on either side of Shaw’s head, and when they fall away, back onto the bed as she breathes in ragged gasps Shaw starts thrusting her fingers once again, mouth pressing into the skin of Root’s other thigh, leaving a mark to match the other as she drives her over the edge a second time with her thumb brushing lightly against her clit.

She goes for a third with her mouth, tongue moving carefully over sensitive flesh and Root shakes all around her when she comes, pleading for Shaw to stop and it’s with some reluctance that she drags her mouth away and slinks her way back up Root’s body, pressing kisses gentler than she thought she’d ever be capable of to the marks she’d left across pale skin as she goes. When she reaches Root’s lips she presses a soft kiss to her lips, and it’s Root who deepens it, tongue sliding between Shaw’s lips to taste herself on her tongue and Shaw echoes Root’s groan with one of her own.

When they part she notices Root shifting awkwardly against the zip ties that still bind her and reaches for her knife, snipping them open and freeing her, frowning down at the reddened skin but before she can reach up to take Root’s hands into her own to check them over they’re already moving, one hand tangling in Shaw’s hair and the other sliding between their bodies.

Root finds Shaw hot and wet and wanting, and two fingers slide within her easily, Shaw’s hips grinding against her as Root uses her thigh to press deeper, and Shaw wonders, as her lips find Root’s once more, how Root even has the energy to do this but she can’t complain as she already feels her orgasm building, already close to edge just from feeling and tasting Root come undone, and she comes with a quiet moan into Root’s mouth, with the taste of the hacker still on her tongue.

She pulls away to catch her breath, dropping her head to rest on Root’s shoulder for a brief moment before she rolls away to lie on her back beside her, propping herself up on one elbow and examining the wounds that litter Root’s body with a critical eye and the other woman notices her scrutiny and rolls her eyes.

“You don’t need to go into doctor mode, Sameen,” she murmurs quietly as she turns her head to look up at Shaw with soft eyes. “I’m fine.”

“These still need cleaning,” she says in reply, swiping one of her fingers along one the deeper cuts to Root’s body, on the underside of one of her breasts. “Just in-case.” Root protests as Shaw pushes herself to her feet but she ignores her, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging with her trusty first aid kit and wondering how many more times she’s going to have path Root up – she imagines, if they do this again, that there will be a lot of it in her future.

(Not that she minds – she just doesn’t need _Root_ to know that).

Her bedsheets are spotted with blood, as is Root’s skin (and her own, she’d noticed in the bathroom mirror), but none of the cuts are still bleeding and Shaw works quickly, swiping each one with an antiseptic, looking apologetically at Root when she hisses each and every time, before she examines the red circles that mar both of Root’s wrists with a critical eye. She cleans them, too, just for good measure, before putting her things away – when she returns from the bathroom Root is curled up in her bed, wrapped up in the sheets, and Shaw stares at her with narrowed eyes as she pauses at the foot of the bed.

“What?” Root asks when she notices Shaw’s expression, looking at her warily, and Shaw sighs as she leans forward to gather up the sheets in her hands, yanking them from Root’s body.

“You’re not sleeping here,” she says sternly, watching as Root’s face changes from sleepy and content to annoyed, and finds that she doesn’t care in the slightest.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not. No-one stays in here.”

“ _I_ did.”

“Because you were half-dead and I had no choice, but now? I’d say you were definitely good.” She can’t explain it to Root, how sleeping beside another person reached a level of intimacy that Shaw was deeply uncomfortable with. She could do sex, sex was easy and uncomplicated (well, usually, anyway – Shaw’s sure that whatever… _this_ is, it’s going to get complicated sooner rather than later), but anything else is over a line that Shaw’s not willing to cross.

Not yet, anyway.

And besides, she’s pretty sure that Root would be a cuddler, and Shaw does _not_ cuddle. She’ll probably wake up in the morning with Root’s naked body draped across hers and Christ, she’s definitely not wired for _that_.

“I’m not moving,” Root says, stubbornly, but Shaw can see the exhaustion in her eyes, too, wonders when the last time she properly slept was and hates herself for caring in the first place.

“Fine, _I’ll_ sleep on the couch.” She bends to grab her shorts and her shirt, glancing at Root to see her gaping at her in disbelief and pauses. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous. Just because we slept together doesn’t mean we’re getting married - ” Shaw’s eyes widen, even just the word filling her with fear, “we can sleep in the same damn bed.”

“And yet I don’t want to.” She wanders to her closet to grab a sheet as Root sits up in the bed, and she tries not to allow her gaze to wander across the expanse of bare skin that the movement reveals.

“This the part where you tell me this can’t ever happen again?” Root asks as Shaw nears the door, her voice small and oddly vulnerable, and when Shaw turns to look at her she sees Root worrying at her bottom lip and she wishes that she could say that no, it definitely won’t, that this is a mistake that she definitely won’t be repeating, but…

She remembers vividly the feeling of Root shaking around her, the taste of her sex on her tongue, the sound of her breathless gasps and moans and god, she definitely wants to hear that again, _feel_ that again, and she knows that, now they’ve started this, she doesn’t think that she’ll ever be able to stop, and she’d always known that Root was dangerous but she doesn’t think she’d ever realized just _how_ much until that moment, as she looks at Shaw with those sad, sad eyes that make her want to do nothing but hurry back over to her and try to comfort her in whatever way she can.

“No,” she says instead, trying not to wring the sheet in her hands and show how uncomfortable she feels all of a sudden, with the weight of Root’s gaze on her. “Because I can’t promise that it won’t.” She watches hope bloom across Root’s face and lets out a shaky sigh, own expression turning stern. “But I still meant what I said before – this doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, Sameen,” Root says, vulnerability blinked away as a smirk threatens to curve at the edges of her lips, instead. “Whatever you say.”

“Goodnight, Root,” Shaw murmurs with another sigh, desperate to get out of that room that smells like sex and sweat and Root, to get away from the panic that she can feel hovering just beneath the surface, as she wonders just what the hell she’s _doing_ , getting involved with Root like this because it’s a slippery slope, she knows it is – Shaw hasn’t ever slept with the same person more than once but she wants to see Root come over and over again and it terrifies her.

“Goodnight, Sameen.” She glances at Root one last time, sprawled in Shaw’s bed like it’s her own, eyes glittering with mischief in the darkness, before she shakes her head and forces her feet to move, taking her into the other room and away from Root and as she settles down on the couch for the night, there is only a single thought in her head.

Sooner or later, Root is going to be the death of her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I re-wrote this chapter more times than anything else I've ever written, so hopefully it turned out okay. This is the last full-length chapter as the epilogue is pretty short, compared to these, and I will post that on either Friday or Saturday when I have some time to read it through. Hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it :)

_I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you._   
_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you._

* * *

 

After Shaw is taken by Samaritan, Root stays in Shaw’s apartment.

It had been the only place that she could think of to go, after the stock exchange. Harold’s voice, hissing in her ear that Shaw’s sacrifice would have been for nothing if they didn’t move and get out of there had been the only thing that had gotten her to stand as the elevator doors had opened, floors above the basement that still haunted her, even now, his hand grasping her arm so tightly that it bruised as she’d struggled to stand on numb, shaky legs that barely seemed able to hold her weight.

Every time she blinked she saw Shaw’s body, saw the bullets ripping through her torso, spraying blood across the floor, saw her eyes, as they’d stared up at Root as the doors to the elevator had slammed shut, as she lay in a pool of her own blood. All she could hear was the sound of her own screams, echoing through her head, and the sound of that last gunshot as a bullet had been aimed at Shaw’s head, and all she could feel was the ghost of Shaw’s lips against hers, a desperate kiss goodbye before she’d shoved Root into the arms of safety and hurled herself into danger.

Harold and Fusco had been preoccupied with getting John to safety, and it had been easy for Root to slip away when they weren’t looking, to let the tears fall freely as she’d collapsed to the floor in a dingy alleyway that remind her too much of the one where she’d pressed Shaw back against the wall and pressed her fingers inside of her for the first time.

It hadn’t been the last – Root had lost count of the amount of times they’d torn at each other’s clothes when they had a moment alone, after that first time, has lost count of the number of times she’d felt and heard Shaw come undone around her, and she around Shaw. Her body is littered with scars, a map of their time together, and some nights Root will run her fingers over them and remember the ghost of Shaw’s touch.

She’d sat in that alley for hours, until the tears had dried and she couldn’t cry anymore, and she’d pushed herself upright when the sky had started to lighten and found her feet walking towards Shaw’s apartment. It had been easy to jimmy the lock and break in, and she’d fallen asleep on Shaw’s bed, one of her black hoodies clutched tightly between her fists, surrounded by the scent of her and praying that in her dreams she’d see Shaw smiling, instead of her limp body.

After that first night, she’d found herself unable to stay away. In the weeks following, the search for Shaw and the determination to take down Samaritan, she’d found herself coming back to the apartment each and every night when she was in the city. Her own belongings sit side by side with Shaw’s, and sometimes the only thing that gets her through the day is the thought of Shaw’s face, when they finally get her back (she refuses to think if – Shaw is still alive, Root is sure, and she will come home soon, she _knows_ she will), when she finds out that Root has all but moved herself into her place.

It probably wouldn’t come as much of a surprise, though – ever since they’d started sleeping together, Root had spent more nights at Shaw’s than she could count. She’d turn up whenever she could (sometimes with food – Shaw was definitely more amenable to her staying on those nights), with a smirk on her face that Shaw would chase away with the heat of her mouth and the touch of her hands, and when they were done Root would sprawl across the bed and look at Shaw with eyes that said she wasn’t going anywhere.

She still remembers the first time they’d slept in the same bed together. It had been the night after the hotel where Root had nearly gotten herself killed, and when she’d appeared at Shaw’s door with her arm in a sling and an apologetic look on her face, Root hadn’t expected to be shoved back against the wall, Shaw covering Root’s body with her own as a hand had crept between Root’s legs and threatened to bring her to her knees. It had been hours later when they’d collapsed against one another on Shaw’s bed, every muscle in Root’s body aching pleasantly, and Shaw had mumbled something about being too exhausted to move and curled up and gone to sleep before Root had barely even realised what had happened. She’d stared at Shaw’s sleeping face for a few long moments before closing her own eyes and falling asleep with a soft smile on her face.

Ever since then it had happened more and more often, until they fell asleep together every time Root spent the night, and Root learned never to bring it up because Shaw would get all grouchy and gruff but it still sent a thrill through her, that they had more together than Root ever thought that they would. She’d even go so far as to call it a relationship – not that she’d ever let Shaw hear her refer to it as that, though. She thought it was a little too soon.

And then Shaw had been ripped away, leaving her alone, and Root had thought that she’d hit rock bottom when Hanna had been taken from her, when the Machine had been taken from her, but god, she was wrong. She was so, so wrong because the pain of losing them both paled in comparison to the agony of losing Shaw, and she was a shell of her former self, barely able to function and the only thing keeping her breathing, some days, was the hope that one day, Shaw would return to her and they could pick up where they left off.

(It’s naïve, she knows it is – when Shaw does come back things will be different, everything will be different because Root is not the same person Shaw left behind and she is sure that Shaw will be different, too, can scarcely imagine what horrors Greer will have put her through).

Her nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been, and she wakes up screaming almost every night, soaked through with a cold sweat that leaves her shivering, tears drying on her cheeks, her eyes red and raw and she hasn’t managed to get a decent night’s sleep since the last time she’d been here with Shaw.

She wishes she’d known that it would be the last time. She would’ve clung on a little tighter, kissed her a little harder, touched her a little longer. She would’ve lounged in Shaw’s bed with her whilst she got dressed for work, instead of slipping out of the front door as Shaw was readying herself for her morning run, pressing a darting kiss to Shaw’s cheek and murmuring that she’d see her soon and it was only a handful of hours later that she was racing to the department store where Shaw worked with her heart in her mouth, the Machine’s warning that she had been in danger ringing through her ears and she’d clutched so tightly at the handles of her motorcycle that she was surprised they hadn’t cracked.

She’d been in time to save Shaw, then. Afterwards, held captive in the subway station, Shaw had been so angry – deep, visceral anger that Root hadn’t seen in her eyes for a long, long time – had left scratches and bites and cuts on Root’s skin that hadn’t faded for weeks (but she’s glad, because they had been all that had kept her grounded, the memories of their time together, easy to recall when she could see the mark left from the press of a cool blade or blunt nails or biting teeth), but Root hadn’t cared because it had meant that Shaw was _alive_. She’d accepted that anger and revelled in it, in the sting of pain and the echoes of pleasure that rocked through her entire body, and afterwards she’d felt tears spring into her eyes at the thought of losing Shaw and Shaw had let her press her head into the side of the neck until she stopped sobbing, a hand rubbing comforting circles at the small of her back.

She hadn’t been able to save her in the stock exchange. She recalls Shaw’s words, murmured to Root so long ago – _I’m expendable, but you’re not_ – and she curses them, curses Shaw for thinking them because she’d been _wrong_ , and Root wishes that it had been her because she’s sure that Shaw would have survived losing Root but Root doesn’t know if she can keep doing this, if she can keep on fighting when all she wants to do, sometimes, is curl up and die because this war they’re fighting feels un-winnable and she’s already lost so much that she can’t stand to lose anything else.

(She can lose, herself, though – she thinks that she probably already has, that day when she’d  watched Shaw slip between her fingertips, her hands clawing at the metal bars of the elevator that had separated them as screams had torn from her throat, and sometimes, when she wakes in the middle of the night with that image in her mind, she hates Shaw for doing this to her, hates herself for being stupid enough to fall in love with her, hates all of it and she wishes that she could just _stop_ thinking because god, it would be so much easier).

Sometimes she buries herself in the bottom of a bottle, thinking that if she drinks enough, she’ll be able to forget Shaw’s face, the beauty of her smile, the smell of her perfume and the feel of her skin beneath Root’s fingertips but it never helps, because even when she’s delirious, even when she can barely even stand without assistance, even when her throat burns from forcing down another sip of bitter spirits, Shaw is still there, haunting her. Sometimes she can’t even stumble home and it’s Harold Finch who is there to help her, looking down at her with sympathy in this eyes as he takes her arm and pulls her beside him, Bear at his heels, and she hates the way he looks at her, with pity and sympathy that she hates, and she wants to snap at him that he should just _stop_ trying to help her, should let her fall apart but whenever she tries Harry just smiles a sad little smile and murmurs that he couldn’t stand to lose her, too.

John has appeared beside her on a barstool more than once, not saying a word to her, only to the bartender, and they’d drink in silence, Root thinking about Hanna and Shaw, John thinking about (she assumes, anyway), Carter and Shaw and everyone else he’s ever lost, and he’ll help her home, to Shaw’s place, before disappearing into the night until the next time and she never thought that the day would come where she could stand to be around John Reese but she prefers him, to Harold, nowadays, because he at least understands her, understands the agony and the fury, the uncontrollable need she has to _destroy_ everything that lies in her path to get to Shaw, encourages it instead of trying to curb it, and she thinks that that may be the only way to get Shaw back – her and Reese, side by side, chasing after her in a blaze of bullets and gunpowder.

As the weeks without Shaw stretch into months and they gain very little ground in their fight against Samaritan, Root starts to lose hope. The Machine is in a box, and by day she and Harold struggle to try and re-build it to what it once was, spending the time arguing, more often than not, as she wants less restrictions, to make Her greater than She ever was before, to give them their best chance against Samaritan, but Harry is too wary, and sometimes Root wants to strangle him, scream that every second they spend fighting is a second that Shaw slips further and further away, and on the day when those words had finally slipped from her mouth she’d spun away from the shocked look on Harold’s face and rushed away, into the room where Shaw had slept for those few days she’d spent in the subway, blinking back tears.

Harold had found her there a few moments later, sat on the edge of the bed with the blanket Shaw had slept beneath held in her hands, and sat beside her and apologised in an uncertain voice, murmured that maybe they could agree to compromise, and they’d made huge strides since that day, the Machine close to being ready to come back online, and the anticipation of it, of what She could be now, makes Root almost dizzy. She’s sure, when She is back, that they will be able to find Shaw, and the closer they get the more frustrated she becomes because she just wants it to be _done_ , just wants Shaw to be back (reluctantly), in her arms again.

It’s strange, to not be dealing with relevant or irrelevant numbers but Root thinks that Samaritan probably has it covered, seeing as nothing terribly horrific (well, that she’s heard about, anyway), has happened since the Machine went down and they had barely managed to escape from that house with their lives, and Root is glad that she has the Machine to concentrate on because without it she’s sure that she’d be going stir crazy, more idle than ever before and she dreads to think what it would have done to her. She’s glad that John still has his sham of a job as detective, because without it she isn’t sure what he’d get up to, with nothing to do and no new leads on Shaw.

(Not since that day, so long ago, now, where Root had caught a glimpse of Shaw through a window – it was dark and she was far away but she was sure it was her, felt certainty deep down in her bones and she’d been so _close_ and when she’d had time to process it, after, she’d cursed herself for not being just a little bit more careful, a little faster, because maybe if she’d been both of those things then Shaw would be beside her right now, instead of off the grid and undergoing something awful, and Martine’s words still ring in her ears (‘she broke, eventually’), and she doesn’t want to doubt but she can’t help it sometimes, wonders how bad the torture must have gotten for Shaw to crack and it makes a cold chill seep through her body).

She’s curled up on Shaw’s couch, wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts and shorts with her laptop on her knee, typing away at some code Harold had asked her to work on, when her phone rings. She ignores it, at first, because she’d only left the subway station a couple of hours ago and she’s sure nothing terribly important could have happened in that short a space of time, but when it rings again she sighs, pushing her laptop from her lap and stretching to reach her phone from the coffee table, lamenting, not for the first time, the loss of the Machine in her ear, and it’s been an adjustment for her, these last few weeks without Her, to get used to doing things on her own once again.

“What’s up, Harry?” She asks when she reads the caller ID, voice bored as she stretches her hands over to her head and wanders over to the kitchen to refill her glass of water.

_“Ms Groves_ ,” Harold sounds relieved that she’d picked up the phone but Root can detect anxiety lying beneath the surface and frowns, pausing halfway to the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?”

_“No, on the contrary, it’s… something rather wonderful has happened - ”_ She stops listening then, though, her head whipping around as she hears the unmistakable sound of the lock on the front door of Shaw’s apartment clicking into place, and she stares with wide eyes as it creaks open, revealing a battered and bruised body on the other side.

“Sameen,” Root breathes, the glass falling from her hand and shattering on the floor – shards of it scatter, hitting the bare skin of her feet but she doesn’t care, lets her other hand fall limp to her side as she takes several stumbling steps forward, pain flashing through her as she steps on the glass but she doesn’t mind because it lets her know that she’s awake, that this is real, and that Sameen Shaw is standing in-front of her for the first time in months.

Her face is a ghostly pale, gaunt, her cheekbones standing out starkly beneath her skin and her cheeks themselves hollow, and Root wonders absentmindedly when the last time she ate a proper meal was as she takes in the sight of her, of the purpling bruise covering the left side of her face that matches the black eye, and her skin is littered with cuts and scratches but to Root she is the most beautiful thing that she has ever seen.

“Hey.” Shaw’s voice is quiet and broken, but it is still _hers_ , and she manages to flash Root a weak smile before she collapses and Root rushes over to her, catching her before she falls and lowering her gently to the floor, cradling Shaw’s face in her hands as she sinks to her knees. Tears fall from her eyes and land on Shaw’s cheek and Root’s fingers tremble as they gently brush strands of hair from around Shaw’s face, and she takes in the damage to her body and frowns, remembering the phone in her hand and lifting it to her ear when she sees that the call is still connected.

“Harry?” Her own voice is a croak, low and affected by the weight of emotion that’s pressing on her, threatening to crush her beneath it.

_“Ms Groves, did you hear me? Ms Shaw is - ”_

“Back,” she breathes, still staring down at Shaw with wonder in her eyes, part of her convinced that she’s going to blink and realise that this isn’t real, that she’s dreaming or it’s an alcohol-induced hallucination.

_“Is she with you?”_

“Yes.” She notices that Shaw’s breathing is shallow and presses two of her fingertips to the pulse in her neck, biting her lip when she feels only a light flutter beneath her touch. “She needs a doctor.”

_“Yes, I know.”_ Harold sighs in exasperation. _“I told her that when she came here, but when she saw you weren’t with me she was rather insistent that...”_

“That she saw me first?” Root’s voice is coloured with disbelief (and a little anger – Shaw should be more concerned with getting help than she should with seeing Root, but… she can’t say she’s going to complain, when it makes her heart skip a beat in her chest).

_“Well, yes.”_ Harold sounds uncomfortable, and Root wonders if it’s because he thinks Shaw might hurt him because of what he’d just revealed. _“Mr Reese is on his way to you to help bring Ms Shaw to one of the safehouses. I think that’ll be safer, considering Samaritan will likely be looking for her.”_

“Okay.” Root is barely listening, can barely even lift her eyes from Shaw’s face, but when Harold’s hung up with the promise of seeing her soon she slips Shaw’s head from her lap gently and pads over to the bedroom, head turning every few seconds to check that Shaw’s still breathing. She moves quickly once Shaw is out of view, shoving a few changes of clothes into a bag in-case they don’t get the opportunity to come back here anytime soon, and snatching some of Shaw’s weapons, too, before grabbing her first aid kit and returning to the other room, kneeling back at Shaw’s side and examining her wounds.

There are a _lot_ , Root notes, and they’re only the ones that are visible – she lifts Shaw’s shirt up slightly, glancing beneath just to see, and sucks in a harsh breath when she sees the skin beneath, mottled by bruises and she wonders if Shaw has broken ribs, prays that she’ll be strong enough to hold on for just a little longer because it would be cruel, to get Shaw back only to have her torn away again, for good this time.

She shakes her head to herself as she starts to clean some of Shaw’s wounds (she notes that the older ones have been treated with care, wonders if Decima had split her skin and broken her bones only to heal them before starting all over again, and she swallows at the thought, throat tight as she can only imagine what pain Shaw’s gone through), but she supposes she can’t be too angry, considering that, months ago, now, she’d been the one fighting to keep her eyes open and to put one foot in front of the other, her side screaming in pain as she’d stumbled towards Shaw’s apartment with the singular thought of seeing her one last time before she closed her eyes.

She wonders if that’s what Shaw had been thinking, too, if she’d seen Root’s face behind her eyes every time she’d blinked and if that gave her the motivation to keep going, despite the pain.  She wonders if Shaw had thought about that day in the stock exchange as much as Root did, if her nightmares were haunted by the look on Root’s face as their eyes had met for that last time, if Root’s screams had echoed in her ears or if all of that had been wiped away but whatever Decima had done to her.

When John comes barrelling through the door, Root is brushing a thumb across Shaw’s cheek and blinking back tears, praying that she’ll be okay, and she wipes hastily at her eyes with the back of her hand as John looks down at her, and there’s wonder on his own face as he takes in the sight of Shaw and she realises that he mustn’t have been at the subway station with Finch when Shaw had arrived, and she feels like she’s intruding on a private moment, watching the way his face changes as his eyes run across Shaw’s body, taking in the damage and assuring himself that she’s real, and Root has to look away.

“She’s going to be okay,” John murmurs, voice gravelly with emotion as he rests a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. She glances up and meets his gaze, shares in his relief and his joy that Shaw is back with them, the acknowledgement that they are both different, after what they’d done in their attempts to find her, and she manages a watery smile before she rises to her feet, allowing him to lean down and gather Shaw into his arms.

She looks so small and weak, cradled against John’s chest as he carries her down to the car, and Root feels worry clawing its way from her chest and up her throat until she can barely breathe, and she settles into the backseat of the car with Shaw’s head on her lap, fingers digging into her neck to keep an eye on her pulse as John’s foot presses the accelerator of the car to the floor and flies down the street.

Root is glad for the late hour because the roads are empty, and it’s only a handful of minutes later that John is pulling into a parking lot beneath a sprawling apartment complex, and as soon as they’re at a stop he’s yanking the door open and lifting Shaw out of the car, and Root is hurrying ahead of him to open doors and she only relaxes once they’re safely inside Harold’s safehouse and Shaw is laid out on a bed in a makeshift hospital room, where a doctor hovers nearby, ready to spring into action.

It’s hard for Root to stand back but she does when Harold murmurs into her ear that breathing down the doctor’s neck isn’t going to help, and she reluctantly steps back into the living room. John hands her a coffee, wordlessly, and she stares at him in surprise for a long moment before nodding her thanks, lifting the mug to her lips and closing her eyes as the scalding liquid slides down her throat.

It’s refreshing, and Root hadn’t realised how exhausted she’d been until that moment. It had been months since she’d slept properly through the night, and days since she’d had any sleep at all, and she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her and winces at what she sees. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot with bags underneath them, and her cheeks are pale and almost as gaunt as Sameen’s had been.

She realises, then, that she can barely even remember the last time _she_ ate something, never mind Shaw, and as if he can read her thoughts John appears at her side a moment later with a plate of toast in his hands, offering it out towards her and she stares at him in shock and he shrugs.

“You look like you could use it,” he says around his own mouthful of toast, and after a moment’s deliberation she reaches out and takes a slice, nibbling delicately at the corner.

“Thank you.” John shrugs again like it’s no big deal but to Root it is – she’s not used to having people care about her, has never had that in her life and to realise that she’s gotten so involved with Harold that _John Reese_ is now on that list is… startling. And strange. She’s not sure what to make of it, but she’s suddenly ravenous and while they’re waiting for the doctor to emerge from Shaw’s room she eats three more pieces of toast and finishes off her coffee, ducking inside the kitchen to put on a fresh pot.

She feels anxious, as she waits for the machine to finish, because it’s been almost two hours since they brought Shaw in here and they’ve heard nothing, and what if she needs more care than a single person with limited supplies can give her? What if she needs a real hospital, but they’ve wasted too much time already and it’s too late by the time they get there?

“She’ll be okay, Ms Groves.” Root jumps at the sound of Harold’s voice, not having heard him come up behind her, and she realises that she’d curled her hands so tightly into fists in an effort to stop her churning thoughts that her nails had split the skin, blood trickling down the inside of her wrists.

“You don’t know that,” Root murmurs in reply as she turns to face him, hating the sympathy, ever-present on his face now when he looks at her, that she sees staring back at her. “You _can’t_ know that.”

“Maybe not,” Harold agrees, as he takes a few steps towards her – when he reaches her side he reaches gently for her hands, uncurling her fingers and turning them over so that he can examine the cuts. “But I do know that Ms Shaw is a fighter, and she’s not going to give up easily.”

“You shouldn’t have let her leave the subway station,” Root accuses, then, because it’s easier to focus on her anger than the thought that in the other room, just a few feet away, Shaw’s life could be inching out of her and Root would have no idea.

“It’s not like I _let_ her leave,” Harold protests, looking affronted. “Even as incapacitated as she is, I doubt that I could’ve stopped Ms Shaw had I gotten in her way. She was rather insistent that you knew she was okay. I think…” He trailed off, looking at her with uncertainty in his eyes, as if unsure he should continue, but he does after a long moment of deliberation. “I think she was worried about what losing her had done to you.”

“Did you tell her?” It’s a whisper, because she isn’t sure she wants to hear the answer – she doesn’t know if she wants Shaw to know the lengths that she’d gone to in her attempts to find her, the dark depths that her soul had reached, the things that she’d done, because she thinks that when Shaw finds that out then she’ll know, she’ll know for sure, if she hadn’t guessed already, that Root is head over heels in love with her, and Root is terrified to know what Shaw will do when she knows that.

She doesn’t know if she can stand the thought of her walking away. Not now. Not after these last few months.

“No,” Harold answers, just as quietly. “I thought it best that she hear it from you.” Root wants to reply but the words stick in her throat, and Harold just smiles softly and taps the back of her hands gently. “Here.” He pushes a small box of medical supplies towards her, along the kitchen counter. “I brought these for your legs but it seems your hands could use them, too.” Root glances down at his words, frown of confusion on her face, before she sees the specks of blood that cover the bare skin of her lower legs, feels a dull throb of pain that she’d been ignoring from her feet and remembers the glass, remembers the shards slicing into her skin.

“Thank you.” He nods and she returns to the living room, curling up on the couch and examining the wounds on her feet, wincing when she sees glass glittering in some of the cuts. It takes a while for her to remove it all and to clean the cuts and scrapes but she’s grateful to have something to concentrate on because the door to Shaw’s room is still shut tight, with little sound of movement from within.

Root’s pressing a bandage to the deepest cut, right on her heel, when the door creaks open and she’s on her feet in an instant, hurrying towards the exhausted-looking doctor as she steps outside, and she can’t read the emotion on her face and it terrifies her. She comes to a stop beside John as Harold limps over to join them, and she reaches for John without thinking, fingers wrapping around his arm hard enough to leave bruises in their wake as they wait together with baited breath for the doctor to speak.

“She’s going to be okay,” she says after what feels like hours to Root, and at the words she releases a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “There was a lot of damage – broken bones, dislocated joints, two gunshot wounds, deep lacerations… it’s a miracle she was even walking, to be perfectly honest. She must be incredibly strong.”

“She is,” Root murmurs, remembering the way Shaw had barely even flinched as she’d thrown herself out of that elevator and into danger, hadn’t let out so much as a whimper as bullets had ripped through her body.

“She’s going to be out of it for a while, whilst her body tries to recover. The dressings on her wounds will need changing every twelve hours, and someone should keep an eye on her vitals – if she starts to deteriorate, even only slightly, then don’t hesitate to call me.”

Root lets Harold and John listen to whatever else the doctor has to say, releasing her hold on John’s arm to stumble into Shaw’s room on shaky legs, her hand trembling as she lifts it to push open the door.

She lies on her back in the bed within, eyes closed and chest rising and falling with the gentle force of her breaths. She’s hooked up to several machines, and her arms are littered with needles, attached to an array of different bags – Root sees blood and antibiotics and another drug she can’t pronounce, before her gaze lands once more on Shaw’s face.

There’s a chair in the corner of the room and Root drags it over towards Shaw, until it’s practically touching the bed and folds herself into it, resting her chin on her hand, eyes flitting between the heart monitor opposite where she sits and Shaw’s body.

She reaches out a hand and runs her fingers down the length of Shaw’s arm, carefully avoiding the drips that originate from the crease of her elbow, moving over scars, both old and new, and tracing her fingertips gently around the outline of her tattoo, exhaling a shaky breath as she does, revelling in being able to touch Shaw’s skin once more. She’s warm to the touch and Root is relieved, relieved that she’s _here_ and that she’s breathing and she allows hope to blossom in her chest for the first time since Shaw had collapsed in her doorway, hope that maybe, impossibly, they might be okay, after all.

She tries not to be too hopeful, though, as she twists her fingers through Shaw’s, holding her hand in a way Shaw would have never allowed if she were awake, because she doesn’t know what will happen when Shaw wakes up. She’s obviously still somewhat herself, having managed to make it to both the subway station and to her own apartment, obviously still remembers Root (she hopes that Shaw remembers what they had together, too), but that doesn’t mean that she’s not been changed by what had happened to her and Root aches to know the truth of it, to know what horrors Shaw had been subjected to over these past few months because maybe then she could learn how to _help_.

Root hears a noise at the door and glances up to see both Harold and John peering inside, hesitance written over their expressions, so Root nods and they take a few uncertain steps forward, until they’re hovering at the foot of Shaw’s bed.

There’s a file clipped to it, handwritten notes scrawled in a hurry, and John lifts them and skims across the words, face darkening the longer her reads, jaw clenching with anger and Root wonders if they reveal a map of what had been done to Shaw, wants to read it but is afraid of what knowing the exact catalogue of Shaw’s injuries will make her feel.

Harold stands on Shaw’s other side and looks down at her with a grave look on his face, and Root wonders if he’s blaming himself for what had happened to her and Root wants to tell him to stop it, that it’s all on her because _she’d_ been the one to call Shaw to the stock exchange that day. She’d known that they couldn’t all get out of it alive so she’d called Shaw, naively hoping that she’d be enough but she wasn’t and Root had lost her, and the guilt and the pain of that had haunted her ever since.

“It’s not your fault,” she croaks, voice tight with emotion, and Harold’s eyes flicker from Shaw’s face to Root’s, widening slightly as they take in her expression, and she wonders if he can see her self-loathing – _it should have been me. God, it should have been me._

“And it’s not yours, either, Ms Groves,” Harold murmurs in reply, voice soft and laden with a certainty Root is sure that he shouldn’t feel. “You may have called her there, but she was the one who made the decision to sacrifice herself.”

“For me.” Root’s eyes are fixed on Shaw’s face, on the way that, despite the damage to her face, she still manages to look peaceful like this. “For all of us. It should have been me.”

“I doubt that Ms Shaw would feel the same way.” Root tears her gaze away from Shaw to glance at Harold, sees that John had slipped out of the room without her noticing. “I doubt very much that she regrets what she did, or the things that happened to her, if they were at the expense of keeping the rest of us safe.  I think you’d do well to remember that.”

He leaves the room too, then, leaving her alone with Shaw and nothing but her thoughts for company. She doesn’t mind, though – they’re decidedly less disparaging than they have been over the past few weeks, now that she can feel the solid weight of Shaw’s hand clutched tightly in her own, now that she can hear the comforting beep of the heart monitor intermingled with the steady sound of Shaw’s breathing. 

Root doesn’t know how to feel, as she stares at Shaw, who looks so frail and broken, so far from the woman that Root’s so familiar with. She looks weak, blackened, purple and blue skin stretching over bones that look so brittle that even the slightest movement seems as though it could shatter them. Curious, she lifts the sheet that covers Shaw’s body to find her wearing very little beneath, just her underwear, although her skin is covered with gauze, her ribs wrapped tightly with a bandage that makes Root wonder how many are broken beneath it.

Unable to resist the draw of it for much longer, she shifts and reaches for the file that John had replaced on the foot of the bed, releasing Shaw’s hand so that she can balance it on her knees, taking a deep breath before she lowers her gaze to read over the words.

_Fractured cheekbone and eye socket. Dislocated shoulder. GSWs to the left arm and right leg. Four broken fingers. Fractured collarbone. Six broken ribs but breathing sounds normal so lung puncture unlikely. Dislocated pelvis and left knee. Broken foot. Multiple lacerations to the face and torso, most likely inflicted by a blade. Severe bruising around the wrists and ankles indicative of restraints. Tox screen results being run, likely that a concoction of tranquilisers and psychotics were used._

Root finds her eyes growing blurry with unshed tears as she reads the words and as soon as she’s done she drops the file like it burns, hands instead returning to Shaw’s, fingers tracing the outline of the bruises bracketing her wrist and she wishes that she could undo it all, wipe those past few awful months from existence, go back to the blissful unawareness she’d had for those few short weeks where she could pretend, in the comfort of Shaw’s apartment, that they were normal people and that there wasn’t an all-seeing AI intent on finding them and killing them.

She lets her hand fall from Shaw’s arm and relaxes back in the chair, knowing that she’s not going to get much rest but deciding that she may as well make herself comfortable because she’s not planning on moving anytime soon, not until Shaw wakes up – Root is determined to be the first thing she sees, whether Shaw likes it or not, wonders if the guilt she still feels despite Harold’s words, deep within her gut, will lessen when she can stare into Shaw’s eyes and try and pretend that everything is okay.  

She doesn’t know how long she sits there for, curled up in a ball with her eyes flickering from Shaw’s face to the machine’s opposite her, watching the outline of Shaw’s steady heartbeat on the screen. Sometimes her eyes slip closed for a few minutes, exhaustion sinking into her bones but she can’t sleep, always snaps awake when her head lolls, too worried that something might happen, that Shaw’s condition might change, and she won’t be quick enough to realise if she’s fast asleep.

When her eyes are open she can’t stop looking at Shaw, her gaze travelling across her skin, wishing that she could wipe away the bruises and the wounds with the press of her lips against them, wants to chase away the pain with the heat of her mouth, prays that she can be enough to help Shaw forget about the things that she’s been through.

Her vigil at Shaw’s beside lasts for two days – the boys occasionally peering in at her or sometimes sitting on Shaw’s other side, bringing her food and water and the only time she ever leaves the room is to go to the bathroom, convinced that if she leaves for longer than a few seconds that something awful might happen, that Shaw might slip away from her once again – before Harold decides to intervene.

“It’s been two days, Ms Groves,” he says, stern, standing beside her and wringing his hands, eyes on her face, and she wonders what he sees there that has him looking so concerned. “Perhaps you should go and get some rest, or - ”

“I’m not leaving her,” she interrupts, her voice cold, and when she glances up at him she sees that he looks taken aback. “I can’t.”

“She won’t be alone.” Harold’s voice is soft, eyes filled with understanding. “I’ll sit with her until you come back.” She bites her lip, because her muscles ache from sitting in that damn chair for so long and she can scarcely even remember the last time she had a shower but knows she needs one, her own blood and Shaw’s still staining her skin.

“I’ll change her dressings, first,” she replies eventually, when it becomes clear that Harold isn’t going to give up this time, and he nods to himself, pleased, before slipping away. Root works methodically as she lifts the thin sheet away from Shaw’s body and peels away each of her dressings, one by one, cleaning the wounds beneath and taping new squares of gauze over each and every one.

She thinks back the number of times that Shaw has done this for her, remembers that very first time, after she’d been shot protecting Cyrus, when she’d pulled a bullet from her chest, lips pressed into a tight line and Root had meant what she’d breathed to Shaw afterwards because she loved it when Shaw was like that, loved the look of concentration on her face, the tiny crease that formed at her brow. She thinks back to when she’d stumbled her way to Shaw’s front door bleeding freely, and she thinks of that night as the one that had led them to here, the catalyst that had brought them closer together because she’s sure that, if not for that, if not for Shaw’s need to take care of other people despite claiming that she was incapable of it, then none of the rest of it would have happened. Shaw would have never allowed Root to stay at her place, would have never allowed Root to kiss her in that dingy alleyway when Root had been filled with such raging jealously that it had made her shake, and she definitely wouldn’t have allowed Root to fall into her bed.

Root’s never thought that she’d ever be grateful, for getting shot, and yet here she is.

She thinks that they’ve come full circle – the first night they’d spent together, Shaw had tended to her wounds and watched her sleep and now, months later, here Root is doing the same. She just hopes that this will be the beginning of something, rather than the end.

She calls for Harold once the last of Shaw’s dressings have been changed and she pauses in the doorway as he settles in the chair beside Shaw with a book in his hand, worrying at her bottom lip, loathe to leave her, even if it was just for a few moments. And then she feels something streak past her legs and looks down to see Bear racing into the room, sitting at Harold’s feet and resting his head on the edge of the bed, licking Shaw’s hand with a soft whine, and she decides that Shaw will be okay, for a little while, without her.

Her skin is reddened by the time she steps from the shower, the water scalding her skin as she scrubs away the blood from her skin, but it’s refreshing, even if she stills feels exhausted by the time she pulls the door open, shivering as the cool air from the bathroom hits her heated skin. She changes into fresh clothes before wandering into the living room where she finds John sitting on the couch surrounded by several bags of takeout food, and she raises an eyebrow as she settles beside him and reaches for a slice of the pizza that lies in the middle of the coffee table.

“I figured she’d be hungry when she woke up,” he explains with a shrug, and Root laughs softly as she takes a bite of pizza, feeling suddenly ravenous. “And I didn’t know what she’d prefer, so I got a little bit of everything.”

“Chinese is her favourite,” Root murmurs quietly, more to herself than to him, remembering the way that the guy in the place from down Shaw’s street had started to recognise her because she’d been there so often, had started to get her order ready without Root even having to ask. She’d gone back there once, after losing Shaw, but she hadn’t been able to eat a single thing when she’d gotten back to the apartment, had just sat and stared at the place where Shaw should be, stuffing her face with spring rolls, as tears had run down her face.

“Then I’ll get some more of that next time I head out,” John replies, and Root smiles around her second slice of pizza. “You want anything?”

“No, thanks.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, sees the concern that he’s trying to hide as his eyes fix on her, no doubt wondering what getting Shaw back has done to her. “Don’t you have some murders to solve?”

“I’m taking a few days off,” he shrugs as he reaches for a beer, taking a long sip before reclining back in the chair and glancing towards Shaw’s room. “Fusco can handle it while I’m gone. I haven’t been much use to him lately, anyway.” She thinks of the restlessness that she’s felt, these past few weeks without the Machine, and understands completely. “How… how are you doing, Root?”

Her lips quirk into a smile when he asks, because not too long ago John Reese hadn’t cared if Root lived or died, and she had felt much the same way about him. She supposes that at least one good thing has come out of these past few months – the very short list of people she actually gives a shit about has grown by one.

“I’m… I don’t know.” She looks down at her hands as she speaks, wringing her fingers. “I don’t think I will until she wakes up. Until… until we know what happened.” She can guess what happened, though, from the injuries covering Shaw’s body. “Until I know she’s okay.”

“She will be,” John says with certainty, nodding to himself. “Whatever they did to her, she’s strong. Strong enough to fight her way out of there on her own and drag herself back to us. To you.” He looks at her meaningfully and Root turns her face away – he’s never asked about her relationship with Shaw, and neither has Harold, but she wonders, sometimes, what they thought about that kiss in the elevator, whether they’d had any idea that there was something between them before that moment, if they’d had any idea how much Shaw had meant to her.

(She knows they do, now – she still remembers the look of horror in Harold’s eyes just before she’d closed her own on a windy rooftop, determined to find Shaw or die, and a part of her hadn’t even cared which option it was, and she thinks that it was only then that it had truly sunk in, that he’d realised that Root was in love).

She doesn’t say another word to John as she grabs another slice of pizza and walks back into Shaw’s room, and Harold glances towards her before he stands and leaves her alone. She curls back up on her chair and Bear wraps himself around her feet, eyes closing and Root wishes that sleep would find her as easily as it seems to for him.

She’s barely been there for two minutes before she hears a quiet groan and her head whips around to find Shaw’s eyes blinking open and a gasp flies from her mouth as Shaw’s head turns to meet her gaze, because Root hadn’t expected her to wake up for another day at least and she’s so frozen with shock that she forgets how to speak, and they stare at one another for a long moment before Shaw breaks the silence.

“You gonna share that?” She asks, her voice croaky from disuse, nodding towards Root’s hand, wincing as she moves, and Root blinks in confusion before she remembers the pizza and huffs out a quiet laugh of disbelief, because of course the first thing on Shaw’s mind would be _food_. “Cause I’m kind of hungry over here.”

“I should’ve guessed that food would be the fastest way to wake you up,” Root breathes, scarcely able to believe that Shaw is there in-front of her, looking at her with those dark eyes, a soft smile on her face and she looks so much like her old self that it takes her breath away. “But you should drink something first.” She seizes one of the bottles of water that Harold had brought from her from the table beside her and leans forward to bring it to Shaw’s lips, and as soon as she’s gulped some down Shaw reaches up to snatch the pizza from Root’s hand and she narrows her eyes into a glare as she watches the other woman eat. “You should _not_ be moving.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Yeah, _your_ doctor.” Even though she’s trying to hide it, Root can see the pain in Shaw’s eyes, can’t imagine how much she must be in, considering everything she’s been through, and she wishes more than anything that she could take it away. “So you have to listen to me.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” She looks at Root, then, her expression gentle, before her mouth opens – and snaps quickly shut when the door is flung open, and Root turns to glare at Harold as he comes hurrying inside, because she’s desperate to know what Shaw had been going to say.

“Ms Groves, is everything okay?” He says, not noticing Shaw, his eyes fixed firmly on Root but she sees John’s eyes, from where he hovers at Harold’s shoulder, widen as he realises that she’s awake. “We heard - ” He cuts himself off with a gasp as he finally glances towards Shaw. “Ms Shaw,” he breathes, “you’re awake. H-how are you feeling?”

“Like a trainwreck,” Shaw answers honestly, and while her attention is focused elsewhere Root allows herself to drink the other woman in.

“You should really get some more rest,” he urges, and Root wholeheartedly agrees but she very much doubts that Shaw is going to listen. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Shaw says darkly, her eyes flashing with something that Root can’t identify, and she aches to ask her what, to know every detail of what she’s been through but she bites her tongue, doesn’t want to make her relive it, not yet.

“And we should really call the doctor to come and check you over,” Harold continues to fuss, and Shaw frowns, protests rising to her lips.

“That really want be necessary, Finch, I’m fine.”

“You collapsed, and you’ve been asleep for nearly three days,” Root speaks up, her voice stern. “You are _not_ fine.”

“But I don’t need - ”

“Yes, you do,” Root cuts in, own eyes narrowing when Shaw throws a frustrated glare her way, and really, Root should’ve known that Shaw would make a terrible patient. “So don’t argue.” Shaw mutters something under her breath as Harold reaches for his phone. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” comes the sullen reply, and Root’s lips twitch, a smile threatening, because she hadn’t known what to expect when Shaw had woken up but it wasn’t this, not seeing her so like her old self, as if the past few months had been nothing but a terrible nightmare.

Shaw perks up when Bear wakes from his nap and realises that she’s awake, his tail wagging frantically as he jumps to put his two front paws on the bed, whining as he licks at her face and even though she winces as she moves, Shaw’s hands rub at the top of his head, an affectionate smile on her mouth.

Her expression darkens again a few moments later when the doctor arrives, and Root frets in the living room after she orders them all out to do her examination in peace, and it’s more torturous than she ever thought it would be, not being able to see Shaw knowing that she’s awake and so _close_ and she’s relieved when the doctor re-appears, a disgruntled look on her face.

“She should be on bedrest for at least three more days,” she tells the three of them as they crowd around her. “I realise that that might be a challenge, but she needs it if she’s going to get her strength back up. Other than that, she should be fine. Make sure the dressings stay clean, and just keep an eye on her in-case there are any side effects from the drugs that have been running through her system.”

Root slips back into the room as Harold’s walking her out, and Shaw complains that she hasn’t brought her any food and she rolls her eyes, turning for the kitchen and digging out one of the many bags of takeout that John had been collecting over the last few days – Shaw snatches it from her with eager hands, and Root perches on the edge of the chair and shakes her head as she watches her eat ravenously.

John and Harold join them after a few moments and Root finds herself glancing between the three of them (and Bear), marvelling at how she’d managed to find herself such a mismatched family. When her eyes return to Shaw she sees a strand of hair has escaped from her ponytail and lies across her uninjured cheek, and reaches to brush it away without thinking – as soon as her fingers touch Shaw’s skin she flinches, yanking her head away from Root, eyes flashing, and Root feels her own widen in alarm as she lets her hand drop down to the bed.

“I… I’m sorry.” Shaw’s voice is shaky as she takes a deep breath, her eyes apologetic as she drinks in Root’s hurt expression. “I just…” She trails off, something dark on her face and Root swallows thickly, understanding dawning.

“It’s okay,” she replies softly, leaning away from Shaw, reclining back into her chair, curling her hands into fists in her lap so that she’s not tempted to touch Shaw again, doesn’t want to bring up any other bad memories. “You don’t have to talk about it.” Even though she wants to know it all, Root’s not going to push, not so soon and not when Shaw is so obviously uncomfortable.

“But we’d like to know,” John adds, and Root swears that his eyes shine with unshed tears as he looks at Shaw, knows that he thinks of her as a sister, and Root had never understood how Shaw could see him as a brother but she thinks she gets it, now, after these past few months. “When you’re ready to talk about it.”

“I’m not,” she replies tersely, but then she sighs and shakes her head. “But I know I should, I just… I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start with how you got away?” Root finds herself asking when both Harold and John are silent, because that’s what’s been bothering her, ever since Shaw had shown up at the door, battered and bloody, because she’d spent months looking for her and hadn’t been able to help her, hadn’t been able to save her, had left Shaw to fight her way out of there on her own and it kills her that she hadn’t been enough to get to her quickly, wonders if she could have saved her some of this pain if she’d found her sooner.

“I…” Shaw sighs, looking down at her hands in her lap as she speaks, her voice soft. “Martine was responsible for me.” Root’s hands twitch at the mention of Martine’s name, and she remembers the feeling, the _sound_ , of her neck snapping and shivers. “She was careful. She kept me out of it, drugged up on a dose that was probably three times more than I needed – even if I wasn’t restrained there was no way I’d have been able to escape. Whenever I started metabolising the drugs she gave me more quickly, she’d change them so I couldn’t get used to them. And then… I got moved.

“I got shoved in a van in the dead of night - ” Root’s jaw clenches because she’d been _so close_ , and she wonders if Shaw had any idea why she’d been dragged somewhere new. “And Martine was gone.”

“I killed her,” Root interrupts quietly, staring down at her hands. “I snapped her neck that night.” She can feel Shaw’s eyes boring into the side of her head, glances up to meet her gaze and wishes that she could read the expression on her face.

“How did you know where I was? That I was alive?”

“You called me,” Root frowns at Shaw’s blank expression, remembering all too clearly the way her heart had stuttered in her chest when she’d heard the sound of Shaw’s voice for the first time in so long. “I made the Machine tell me where you were.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember.” Shaw’s expression turns distressed. “They… when they realised that torturing me wasn’t going to break me they gave me psychotics instead. I don’t know what I said when I was on them, I don’t know what I told them. I can’t remember it.”

“It’s okay, Shaw,” Reese cuts in, towering at the foot of Shaw’s bed with a dark expression, like he wants to rip Decima apart for what they’ve done. “They never found us.” Relief flickers over her expression but then she turns stern, turning her head to glare at Root.

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” she insists, eyes flashing. “You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me, it could’ve been a trap.”

“It _was_ a trap,” Root replies, but she’d known it was, hadn’t cared about herself, only about saving Shaw, only about seeing her again, consequences be damned. “But I couldn’t… I gave up looking for you.” Her voice breaks, because it had been the hardest thing that she’d ever had to do, listening to the Machine and to Harold when they’d told her to stop, that it was futile, that she should give up on the only thing she’d loved since Hanna (and she’d lost her, too). “I doubted that you were still alive.” She knows that she’ll never forgive herself for that, for as long as she lives, even if Shaw manages to. “I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t ignore _you_. Not again.”

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” Shaw repeats, like she thinks Root’s a complete idiot but she thinks about what Shaw had done, hurling herself into the arms of Decima in order to save Root and John and Harold and Fusco, and thinks that she’s hardly one to talk. “But… I’m glad you did because if Martine was still alive I wouldn’t have been able to get away.” Root allows that to sink in as Shaw continues. “The new guy that they had looking after me… he was cocky. He hadn’t seen me in action, thought that Martine was being overly cautious with me and that I wasn’t much of a threat, anyway, with everything that they’d done to me.

“So he lowered the drug doses and he never changed them. I got used to them until they barely even affected me anymore but I pretended they did, let myself get stronger, and then yesterday when they were taking me to a different room… I broke free. I don’t know how I got away.” She shakes her head slightly, like she can barely believe it herself. “I managed to wrestle a gun from one of the guards and fought my way out, stole a car and found my way back here. I don’t know how they didn’t find me, or how I even made it, but… I did. And here I am.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back, Ms Shaw.” Harold is the first to speak once Shaw’s story is over, his relief shining clearly in his voice. “Relatively unscathed.”

“And I’m glad you’re all okay.” Her eyes linger on Root, taking in her features, a tiny frown on her face and Root wonders what she sees on her face. “What’ve I missed?”

Root lets Harold and Reese fill Shaw in, lets their voices wash over her and finds that her eyes keep drifting closed even though she’s desperate to keep them on Shaw, to keep assuring herself that she’s real. She keeps blinking herself awake, digging her nails into her thighs in an effort to wake herself up, and she sees, after letting her eyes slip closed for several long moments, that Shaw’s frown has deepened when they flutter open again as she finds the other woman looking at her with concern.

“When’s the last time you slept?” She asks, and Root realises belatedly that John and Harold are no longer in the room, hadn’t even noticed them leave. “Because you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks Shaw.” She can’t be angry at her words, though, because she knows they’re true – she’d looked terrible even _before_ spending two days at Shaw’s bedside, and she dreads to think what she looks like now, doesn’t even want to know.

“Well, I’m sorry but it’s true. When was it?”

“A few days ago,” she shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like she’s not so exhausted that she doesn’t even think that she can manage to stand, like she’s not wondering how her eyes are even managing to stay open right now (but she knows why – it’s because she’s used to it, she’s used to feeling like she has no energy, like she’s barely keeping herself together, because that’s all that she’s known, recently).

“Through the night,” Shaw prompts, then, and Root bites her lip before she replies.

“I… I don’t remember,” she answers, even though she does – it had been the last night she’d spent with the heat of Shaw’s body close to her own, and Shaw looks at her like she knows she’s lying. “A long time ago. Before…” She trails off, looking away as she sees sympathy flash in Shaw’s eyes. “Before.”

“Root…” Shaw starts, carefully, something in her voice changing and Root wonders if she’s about to hear an apology and she’s not sure if she can stand it. “About what happened - ”

“Don’t,” she cuts Shaw off, almost pleading. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to _think_ about it. These last few months, I…” Her voice cracks, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Shaw’s jaw clench, and Root doesn’t know how to go on, doesn’t know how to explain what it had felt like, without Shaw in her life, the gaping hole it had left in her where her heart had used to be, how it hurt to _breathe_ without her, because how can she ever begin to make Shaw understand that? “I’m just glad that you’re back.”

“Me too.” Shaw looks like she wants to say more, but bites her tongue and Root is grateful – she doesn’t want to relive another second of it, wants to put it all behind her and never think about what life without Shaw was like ever again. “You should get some sleep.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one fussing over you?”

“Like I’d ever let you.” Root smiles softly because she knows that’s true – on the nights where Root had left marks across Shaw’s body with her teeth or a knife, Shaw had never let her tend to the wounds after, would always bat her hands away and grumble that she’d probably only make it worse, and Root had learned to roll her eyes and lean back to watch, instead. “Seriously, how long have you been sat in that chair? The whole time I was asleep?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.” Her voice is quiet, vulnerable, and she’s still so terrified of Shaw figuring out how much she means to Root, terrified that it’ll send her running away, because what they’d had before, they’d never talked about it, never involved feelings, but Root thinks that her reluctance to leave this room says more than words ever could.

“Root.” Shaw says her name softly, half-exasperated and half-affectionate, and she dares to meet Shaw’s gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ve said that before.” She can’t help the slightest hint of accusation slip into her voice because she remembers it all too clearly – that day when Root had dared to return to the subway for the first time since making Shaw a prisoner there, after Shaw had scoured her skin and they’d collapsed against one another, after Root’s tears had dried, Shaw had murmured that she’d stay hidden away for as long as she felt she could.

“I couldn’t just sit there while you were all in danger,” Shaw murmurs in reply, her voice quiet, and Root knows that’s true – she remembers Shaw’s restlessness, stuck underground while the rest of them risked their lives above it, remembers the terror that she’d felt eating at her heart whenever she’d been around Shaw, wondering if the next time she walked down those subway steps she’d find that Shaw was gone. “And even if you hadn’t asked me help that day - ” Shaw’s reminder is gentle but Root still flinches, her hands trembling in her lap and tears springing into her eyes because god, she’ll never stop hating herself for that, she’ll never stop blaming herself for it, no matter how many times the others tell her that it’s not her fault, and Shaw frowns when she notices the look on Root’s face. “Something was going to happen sooner rather than later, if I was out on the street.”

“Maybe not.” But she knows it’s a lie, that Samaritan was too powerful for Shaw to remain off its radar for long. “And at least then it wouldn’t have been on me.” She thinks it might have been worse, though, if Shaw had slipped away without her knowing, without her realising – at least the way it had happened, they’d had one last moment together, one last kiss for Root to remember her by, and even if the image of her lying on the ground had haunted Root ever since at least she wasn’t left with uncertainty.

“None of this is on you, Root. I came because you needed me – if something had happened to you, any of you, and I didn’t do everything I could to stop it, I couldn’t live with myself. So yeah, you called me, but I’m glad you did, because someone had to get you out of there. Someone had to press that button.”

“It didn’t have to be you.” Her voice breaks again, seeing it all replayed behind her eyes, and Shaw’s expression is haunted and Root wonders if she’s remembering that moment, too, if Root’s screams are ringing in her ears, and she wonders what Shaw had felt, as she’d looked up at Root for that last time.

“Yes, it did.” There’s a certainty in Shaw’s voice that tells Root that she doesn’t regret it, any of it, that she was willing to die for them and that she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she’d have let someone else go in her place, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Root, that doesn’t lessen the pain, or help her forget it.

“It should’ve been me.” It’s something that she’s thought more times than she can count, but she’s never said it aloud, and she hears Shaw let out a violent huff and then there’s a hand wrapping around the side of Root’s face, Shaw’s fingers digging into her skin, an angry  look in her eyes as they meet Root’s.

“Don’t say that.” She sounds more upset than Root’s ever heard her but Root finds it hard to concentrate on her words, too stunned by the feeling of Shaw’s touch for the first time in so long, her breath catching in her throat and her heart stuttering in her chest. “Don’t _ever_ say that.”

“You would’ve been fine without me,” she whispers, because Shaw wouldn’t have let it get to her, would have been ruthless in her mission to get Root back, wouldn’t have let her emotions cloud her judgement and Root thinks that Shaw would’ve found her, whereas Root hadn’t been able to do a single thing to save Shaw.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Shaw’s voice is rough, her eyes clouded with emotion, and Root blinks at her in surprise as Shaw’s touch turns gentle, her thumb brushing away a tear that Root hadn’t even realised had fallen from her eyes from her cheek, and she looks at Root like she can barely believe that she’s real. “I wasn’t.” She takes a deep, shaky breath, and when she next speaks her words are tinged with anguish. “They tried to use you to break me. And it nearly worked.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all she can think of to say, because she knows that, a year ago, there would’ve been nothing that could have cracked Sameen Shaw into giving information, that the only thing they’d have to use against her was pain, but now there’s more than that, now there’s Root because she’d crept into Shaw’s life and, as she looks into Shaw’s eyes and sees the pain hiding in their dark depths, she thinks that maybe she’s even managed to creep into her heart, too, and Shaw probably thinks that that has made her weak, and Root can’t stand the thought of Shaw pushing her away because of it.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Shaw murmurs softly, and Root breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when she sees that Shaw’s expression hasn’t become closed off. “It’s my own stupid fault for letting myself get so involved with you.”

“Well,” Root thinks she sounds a little more like her old self, as she lets a smirk play at the edges of her lips. “I _am_ pretty irresistible, so you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” Shaw rolls her eyes, her hand dropping from Root’s face as she settles back on the bed, and Root pouts, already missing Shaw’s touch – it’s wiped away, though, by a yawn, and she presses a hand to her mouth and thinks that maybe she should try and get some sleep, after all. “I guess I’ll go check out one of the guest bedrooms…” She trails off as she pushes herself to her feet, worrying at her bottom lip as she glances down at Shaw, and she swears that she sees something like panic flash through her eyes before it’s blinked away. “If you’re sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“I… You could stay here,” she says, then, looking up at Root and Root can only stare dumbly back at her, scarcely believing what she’s hearing. “Y’know,” she adds hastily, with a small shrug that Root’s pretty sure must have hurt. “If you want.”

“Are… are you asking me to sleep with you? In a single bed?” She has to clarify, because Shaw has always been adamant that Root is encroaching too much in her space whenever they sleep next to one another, even though she stays (for the most part) resolutely on her own side of the bed, and Shaw always made it clear that the only reason that Root was allowed to stay in the first place was because she had nowhere else to go.

“Don’t get _weird_ about it,” Shaw continues, shifting uncomfortably under Root’s curious gaze, and if she didn’t know any better she’d swear that there was a hint of a blush staining Shaw’s cheeks. “And don’t read into it,” she warns, and Root bites her lip to hide a smile.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she replies, instead of with the emphatic _yes_ that she’d rather say, because she’s aware of the long list of injures in Shaw’s file and she’s sure that she must be in a lot of pain already, never mind without Root trying hard not to knock into her.   

“It’s fine.” Root is doubtful of that, but Shaw is looking at her like she doesn’t want Root to leave and she wonders if she’d spent these last few months mostly alone in darkness, if she couldn’t stand another second of it, if she’d spent each and every night wishing that there was a warm body pressed close to her own (Root thinks she’s reaching, a little, with that last one but hey, she could always dream). “I’m not going to ask again,” Shaw adds, then, and Root decides that the allure of having Shaw so close again is greater than her concern about worsening her injuries and she decides that she’ll just have to be careful as she clambers onto the bed beside Shaw, who shifts over a little to make space for her. She presses her back against the railing of the bed so that she’s barely touching Shaw, folding her arms into the space between them and resting her cheek on them. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Shaw reminds her when Root doesn’t close her eyes, choosing instead to watch Shaw closely as she breathes her in – she smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder and _Shaw_ and Root is still half-convinced that the last few days have been a dream.

“But you’re just so pretty to look at.” Her voice is low, tinged with her weariness, and Shaw rolls her eyes even as a soft smile threatens to curve at her lips.

“Yeah, I’m sure the black eye and fractured cheekbone are really attractive,” comes the dry reply, but Root barely notices the bruises, anymore, is too relieved that Shaw is awake and talking and _okay_ to focus much on anything else.

“They are when they’re on you.” Her eyes flutter closed as she becomes unable to keep them open for any longer, and she feels Shaw brush a few strands of hair away from her face and sighs sleepily. “Don’t you know that it’s creepy to watch people sleep?” Her voice is more of a mumble, now, as she remembers Shaw’s discomfort on that first night Root had slept at her place, when Shaw had woken with Root’s eyes on her.

“Seeing as you spent the past two days watching me, I think it’s only fair.”

“I was checking you were still breathing, what’s your excuse?”

“Go to sleep, Root,” Shaw murmurs, exasperated. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” She finds herself breathing, even though she can already feel herself slipping towards unconsciousness, and she wonders if this will be the first decent night’s sleep she’s had since before Shaw had disappeared.

“Yeah, Root,” Shaw replies softly, her fingers running gently up and down Root’s arm, now, as if assuring herself that she’s real, that she’s there, and Root wonders again the specifics of what she’d been through, how she’d been used to torture Shaw and what that would mean for them going forward – where they _stood_ , going forward, because Root is sure now more than ever that Sameen Shaw is the love of her life but she’s a hundred percent sure that Shaw is _not_ ready to hear that yet, if she ever will be, and she aches to know how Shaw thinks of her now, if these past few months have changed anything but she finds that she’s too tried to make her mouth form the words. “I promise.”

Root doesn’t know what the future will hold, but she’s lived these last few months in uncertainty, unsure of so many things – if she’d even survive them, if Shaw was still alive, if they’d ever get her back, if they could continue to evade Samaritan despite all the obstacles in their way – but this is the first night for as long as she can remember that she’s not been terrified to wake up the next morning, because she can feel the heat of Shaw’s body, so close to her own, can hear the sound of her heartbeat in the regular beeping of the heart monitor, and it’s the first time since Root had rushed to save Shaw from Martine in the department store that she feels like she’s truly able to breathe.


	5. Epilogue

“Now, remember, Ms Shaw, that you need to - ”

“Stay on the shadow map, stay out of sight of cameras and keep in contact,” Shaw interrupts with a roll of her eyes, and Finch’s eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror, stern look on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“I’m just making sure that you’re - ”

“Careful, I know.” She rolls her eyes again, and his babying would be a hundred times more frustrating if not for the fact that, for the first time in almost two weeks, she’s actually being allowedto leave the safehouse and help on a mission.

It’s not a big one, and all she has to do is accompany Root while she steals some computer thingie (Shaw wasn’t really listening to the finer details at the time, too excited by the prospect of actually _doing_ something other than lying in bed or day or trying to build her strength up or playing with Bear) so that they can get the Machine back up and running. Shaw’s still trying to adjust to that, to it being gone, and she wonders how bad it had gotten, for Reese and Finch and Root, for them to resort to putting the Machine in a box, but no matter how many times she asks they won’t give her the details, not really, but she supposes that she can’t really be mad at them when she hasn’t been very forthcoming about what had happened to her while Decima had had her within their clutches for the past few months.

She doesn’t like to think about it, wishes that she didn’t, that she could just erase it all and she probably could, if not for the nightmares. She hadn’t understood, that day when she’d found Root writhing in her bed, how a dream could invoke such a visceral reaction but god, she gets it now – she wakes drenched in a cold sweat most nights, her heart racing in her chest, so badly that she’s having to take medication to make sure that it doesn’t stop beating. Root is always there whenever she wakes, and even though Shaw is positive that she must mumble in her sleep, Root never asks her what haunts her mind at night and for that she is grateful, because she doesn’t know how to describe it, not to her. How can she even go about describing the way that, every time she closes her eyes, she sees Root’s face, only for it to morph into Martine’s, a cold, cruel smile on her face as she presses a sharp blade against her skin or cracks a bone? Or worse, the pictures that she’d shown Shaw as she’d tried to convince her that Root was dead, her pale, blood-stained body lying limp on the floor, her eyes staring blankly upwards and it had been that, more than anything else, more than any physical pain that they’d inflicted on her, that had hurt the worst – the thought that, because of her, because she hadn’t _been_ there to stop it, to help, Root might be dead.

There’s always a second, just after she wakes up, where she’s convinced that she’s still a captive, that she’s still in that dank, dark room with her wrists and ankles secured to a bed, a drip of a potent cocktail of drugs running through her veins and she sees Root and she always, always thinks that she’s not real, that her mind is playing tricks on her and it’s just Martine, ready to torture her some more, and she flinches away and it’s only when she sees the wounded look on Root’s face that she remembers that she’s not still there, that she's okay.

It hasn’t been easy, for her to adjust. Especially when she’s confined to the four walls of the safehouse, and she’s going stir crazy. As soon as her injuries had healed enough for her to stand she’d been working on getting her strength back up, sparring with Reese (never with Root – Shaw’s not sure how well she’d handle getting up close and personal with her, fears that she’d be too tempted to press her to the floor and kiss her until she could forget it all, wipe away the memories of the past few months and bury herself in the other woman, but they’ve barely shared a single moment alone (except overnight, where they are both too exhausted to do anything other than try to sleep), Finch always hovering and Shaw hates him a little for it, wants nothing more than to reunite, fully, with the woman she’d come to realise, in her prison, had meant more to her than she ever thought another person could) whenever she can in an effort to rid herself of some of that restless energy but lately is hasn’t been working. The others had all noticed it, how grumpy she’d been lately and Finch and even Reese avoid her whenever they can, lest she snap at them and even Root is a little wary around her but Shaw can’t _help_ it, isn’t used to feeling so useless, especially after spending so long underground.

So when Finch had offered her the chance to get out for a few hours, she’d accepted in a heartbeat. She knows she’ll still be on Decima’s radar, especially after the mess she’d left of the building when she’d escaped and with the number of agents she’d killed in the process, but they have no idea if she’s still on Samaritan’s radar, and they don’t really want to find out. Which is why she’s huddled up in a huge coat with a hat drawn over her eyes with strict instructions to avoid any camera she possibly can, and why Reese is going with them as back-up, even though Shaw is positive that she’ll be able  to handle this on her own.

When Finch pulls the car up to the curb Shaw is jumping out before it’s even come to a stop, taking a deep breath of the cool New York air, and she smirks as she spots a familiar leather jacket and head of dark hair leaning against the brick wall of a building and hurries over to Root’s side, Finch’s warnings ringing in her ears.

“Hi, sweetie.” Root’s eyes glitter with affection as they meet Shaw’s, smile curving at her lips that Shaw aches to wipe away with a kiss – they haven’t done much of it, since she came back, the boys always hovering in the background or Root always busy trying to get the Machine back online and Shaw very much wants to change that, longs to feel Root’s mouth hot against hers again, wants to wipe away the memory of that kiss in the stock exchange with a hundred others. “Happy to be free?”

“It’s going to be fine,” Shaw says because she can see the worry swirling in Root’s eyes, even though she’s smiling, knows that a part of her is terrified about this, about Shaw being back on the streets, scared that she’s going to be ripped away again.

“It’d better be.” Root’s expression changes as Reese joins them, her worries blinked away, and they fall into step beside one another without a word, the three of them heading for the tech company they’re stealing from, but as they’re about to step inside, through a back alley door, Root’s hand reaches across Shaw’s body, stopping her in place. “Wait here while I turn the security system off.”

She’s impatient, as she watches Root and Reese disappear inside, tapping her foot against the floor in an even rhythm, and as soon as Root murmurs into her ear that the coast is clear she’s on the move, wrenching the door open and hurrying inside.

She meets the two of them on the second floor as they each draw a ski mask over their face, and she clicks off the safety of her gun as they shoulder through the doors, doubting that she’s going to need it but a part of her kind of desperate to, after so long out of action.

There’s no need for it, though – it’s a disappointingly easy mission, and Shaw only has to subdue a single employee when he tries to call for help. It’s kind of boring, how simple it is for Root to find what she’s looking for, a tiny device that Shaw is absolutely clueless about, but she figures it must be important considering this is the first time she’s seen Root do anything other than write code for the past two weeks.

“Is that really it?” She asks as they’re hurrying away, dumping their masks in a trashcan they pass on the way back to where they’d left Finch, and there’s a slight whine in her voice that she kind of hates herself for showing but she’s just so _disappointed_.

“What, not exciting enough for you?” Root asks with a breathless laugh, glancing over her shoulder to check that they’re not being followed, and there’s a wry smile on Reese’s face and she knows that he at least _understands_.

“Well, in a word, no.”

“You’re still not fully recovered,” Root points out and Shaw scowls even though she knows Root’s right, because she hates not being up to full strength, knowing that if she got into a fight she probably wouldn’t last very long if the other guy got a decent hit in. “You can’t expect to just go jumping back into the heart of it. And besides, there isn’t much we _can_ do, without Her.”

Shaw wonders how Root’s been dealing with that, with the loss of the Machine when she’d become so dependent on it as her analogue interface, had expected her to be less of herself, but she’s still surprisingly perky, and Shaw wonders if her return had something to do with that.

She’d asked Reese, one night when she hadn’t been able to sleep and had slipped quietly away from Root, what the past few months had done to her. Because she’d asked Root but she’d brushed it off, like it had been hard but she’d been okay, but Shaw didn’t buy it for a second, not after seeing the look on Root’s face when she’d turned up at the front door of her apartment (she’d known that Root would be there, had felt it in her bones, that she’d be where Shaw had spent most of her time, trying to keep her memory alive).

Reese hadn’t answered her for a long, long time, had looked down at the beer in his hand with a grave look on his face. When he eventually spoke he didn’t look in the eye as he told her how it had nearly destroyed her, how he’d wondered, at times, if she was going to get herself killed in the fight because she no longer seemed to care what happened  to her. He spoke about how she drank to forget, how he’d found her on so many nights at the bottom of a bottle with a haunted look in her eyes and he’d never seen a person so broken.

Shaw wished, after hearing it, that she hadn’t asked. Because she’d never asked for Root to care so deeply for her, to love her (because she knows that she does, she thinks that Root has, even before they started sleeping together but she’d seen it on her face after they had, in her eyes as she’d looked at Shaw when they collapsed afterwards, sleepy and sated, but nothing is as telling as the look that had haunted her nightmares for so long after she’d been taken, the horror on Root’s face as her hands had curled around the bars of that elevator as screams had wracked through her body and Shaw will never forget the sound of it, not until the day she dies). She’d never wanted any of that, because she’d known how it would end – she’d told Root that she’d break her and she knows, that on the day she’d pressed that button and felt bullets rip her to shreds, that she’d done far, far worse than that to her.

It makes it difficult for her to not be wary around Root, now, terrified of hurting her even more and she knows that Root’s noticed, that she’s tired of being treated like she’s going to break but Shaw can’t help it, can’t help but feel guilt every time she looks at her and she knows that Root feels the same way when she looks at Shaw and it’s kind of ridiculous, how they act around one another, wary and careful, when all Shaw really wants to do is press Root against the nearest vertical surface and make her forget her own name.

There hasn’t been a chance, though, and it’s been driving her crazy, and she doesn’t know what she wants, if she’s even ready to try anything more than the casual sex they’d had before she’d disappeared – all she knows is that she wants Root and it’s been nearly three days since she saw her properly and suddenly she can’t stand to go another second with this uncertainty hovering between them, not knowing where they stand and she reaches out and wraps her hand around Root’s wrist, tugging her to a stop and she frowns down at Shaw with confusion in her eyes as she turns to face her.

“Give the chip to Reese,” she demands quietly, watching Root’s puzzlement grow and Reese turns back to look at them curiously.

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” she huffs, annoyed, and Root’s lips twitch, a smile threatening, and when she doesn’t move Shaw sighs and reaches for Root’s pocket, smirking at the way she hears her breath catch as Shaw steps close. She finds the chip easily and turns to hand it to Reese, ignoring the puzzled look on Root’s face. “You take this back to Finch.”

“And how are you getting back to the safehouse?” Reese asks, an amused glint to his eyes like he knows exactly why Shaw is doing this and she rolls her eyes at him, turning back to Root with a hopeful expression.

“You bring your motorcycle?” Root nods, and Shaw smiles, victorious as she turns back to Reese. “There, sorted.”

“Finch isn’t going to like this,” he points out, and Shaw rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t give a fuck, okay? For two weeks I’ve been stuck inside, and another five months before that, so just… give me a few minutes of freedom?”

“A few minutes alone with Root, you mean?” John dares to ask and Shaw glares, stepping threateningly towards him but he’s already backing away, walking down the street chuckling to himself and Shaw decides that she’s going to get him back for that comment the next time they’re sparring.

“What - ” Root starts to ask, amusement colouring her voice, but Shaw grabs her wrist again and tugs her away, cutting her off, and she pushes Root down a side alley and against a wall and she smothers the hacker’s gasp of surprise with her mouth, pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss. “What are you doing?” Root asks, breathless, when they part, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving as she tilts her head back to rest on the wall behind her.

“Oh, come on, Root,” Shaw murmurs as she splays one hand on Root’s thigh and the other at her hip, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her shirt to spread across heated skin. “We haven’t had two seconds alone since I got back – you going to tell me that you haven’t wanted this since then?”

“No, I… I do.” She stutters as Shaw’s hand inches higher, her fingertips brushing against the edge of her lace bra and Shaw licks her lips, anticipation sparking through her because she’s aching for this, has barely been able to think about a single thing else when Root crawls into bed beside her every night. “I just…”

“Just?” Shaw prompts, nails digging into Root’s denim-clad thigh and she watches her eyes flutter closed, just slightly, and she wants nothing more than to bring her to her knees, to hear Root breathe her name when she comes, and so many times for those long months in that dark room the only thing that had gotten her through the day was the thought of this, of having Root in her arms once again.

“What does it mean?” There’s a vulnerability in Root’s eyes as they meet hers, and Shaw knows what she’s really saying – that she can’t bear to start this again if it comes to nothing, if it’s sex and very little else and she knows that Root will accept whatever Shaw is able to give her, no matter how small, but Shaw thinks that she deserves so much more.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, because she doesn’t – she doesn’t know what she’s capable of, but she knows that she cares more about Root than any other single person in her life (and she doesn’t know how or when that happened or why she’s been stupid enough to fall for someone who makes her so _crazy_ and yet here she is), and for the first time in her life she wants to _try_ , and she just hopes that that will be enough. “I just know that I need you.”

It’s not an easy thing for her to admit and Root knows it, doesn’t press her for more – instead she curls a hand around the back of Shaw’s neck and brings their lips together in another kiss, her tongue pressing into Shaw’s mouth and tangling with hers, and she moans when Shaw’s hand kneads at her breast through her bra and Shaw sighs into Root’s mouth, flooded with contentment for the first time in a long, long time.

Root’s free hand falls to Shaw’s ass, pushing her closer so that they’ve each got a thigh between the other legs and Root grinds against her and lets out a breathless moan as Shaw’s mouth slants down the side of neck, teeth nipping at her pulse point, beating frantically beneath her tongue.

She catches a nipple between her fingers as she works her way down the column of Root’s throat, hips bucking against the other woman’s thigh and she’s burning with desire, her skin on fire because it’s been so long and she swears that she’s never needed anything in her life more than she needs Root’s touch in that moment, needs to assure herself that Root’s there and she’s not going anywhere (she’s still alive, and Shaw’s not still a captive, and maybe, just maybe everything will be okay).

“Sameen,” Root breathes as Shaw shifts to tease at her other nipple, wishing that Root wasn’t wearing so many goddamn layers because she wants nothing more than to get her mouth on them, and she raises her head from Root’s collarbones to meet her gaze and swallows thickly when she sees that her eyes are nearly black, pupils blown, as she shifts her hips deliberately against Shaw’s thigh. “Please.”

Part of Shaw wants to drag this out, to savour it, but she finds it impossible to hold herself back as she takes in the wanton look on Root’s face and she slides her hands between them to fumble with the button of Root’s jeans, leaning forward to crash their lips together to swallow the sound of both of their groans as her hand slides beneath the soaked cotton of Root’s underwear.

She finds her slick and wet and wanting, her fingers skating easily over her clit before pressing inside of her and her breath catches in throat at the feeling of Root around her fingers, hot and perfect and god, she’s missed this, she’s missed _her_ , never wants to go so long without this ever again.

(It’s a startling thought to have, but she finds that she can’t focus on it, too distracted by the way Root feels clenching around her fingers, drawing her deeper as her hips grind against the palm of Shaw’s hand, and maybe she’ll revisit how whipped she is later – maybe).

Her rhythm falters when she feels hands at her own belt, Root tugging it away impatiently before she’s burying two fingers inside of her and Shaw breathes a quiet curse into Root’s mouth at the feeling of it, her knees nearly buckling when Root swipes her thumb over her clit.

Her head falls to Root’s shoulder, her breaths coming out in quick pants as she drives Root closer to the edge, adding a third finger and biting at Root’s skin to stifle a moan when Root copies her, and Shaw thinks that if not for the tight grip that Root has on her hip that she might she might fall, and her free hand scrambles for purchase at the wall beside Root’s ribs, nails biting into the coarse brick as she tries to focus on the sensation of that rather than on what Root’s doing to her, wants to hold off for a little longer but it’s impossible, when Root flicks at her clit with every press of her curling fingers and she finds her eyes slamming closed, mouth pressing into the skin of Root’s neck, terrified that she might accidentally breathe out her name as she comes, quaking around Root’s fingers, the sound of Root’s laboured breathing echoing in her ears.

As soon as she can open her eyes she lifts her head, watching Root’s face as she drives her to the edge whilst her fingers are still inside Shaw, palm grinding against her clit as she feels Root tightening around her, and Shaw never takes her eyes off of Root’s face as she comes, admiring the way she throws her head back against the wall, bottom lip ensnared between her teeth, flush covering her cheeks.

Shaw kisses her, then, gentler than she thinks she ever has before and she’s almost relieved when Root kisses her back harder, teeth nipping at Shaw’s bottom lip, and they both groan when the skin splits, Root’s tongue sliding along the cut and Shaw tastes copper on her tongue, wants more of it, wants Root to draw a knife across her skin, give her new cuts to replace the old ones, the ones that Martine had given her, wants Root to mark Shaw as her own.

“Reckon we can chase the boys out of the safehouse for a few hours?” Shaw asks when their lips part, both of their breathing heavy, and Root’s smirk, when their eyes meet, is wicked.

“I don’t think that’ll be too hard to manage.” They detach themselves from one another a little reluctantly, straightening out their clothes before Root drags her over to where she’d left her bike, tossing Shaw a helmet as she climbs on, and Shaw wraps her arms around Root’s waist as they race through the crowded streets almost dangerously fast, and thinks that she’s finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we have it, the ending of what was supposed to be a oneshot but managed to turn into something so much more. Thank you so much, everyone who's left kudos and who's commented and supported this story, you are all amazing and hopefully you've enjoyed the final instalment as much as the others :)


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